


Not That Gone

by abrighteryellow



Series: Not That Gone [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Actor Harry Styles, Alternate Universe, American AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Niall Horan, Blow Jobs, Dating, Dirty Talk, Drama Teacher Louis Tomlinson, Famous Harry Styles, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Harry is Chris Evans, M/M, Making Out, Non-Famous Louis Tomlinson, Older Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Oral Sex, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Smut, Teen Angst, Tribute to my fellow theater kids, side Ziam, side shiall, you know how I do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrighteryellow/pseuds/abrighteryellow
Summary: Around four in the afternoon on day two, Harry was dropping kisses on Louis' chest and heading downwards when he abruptly stopped.“I can move back here,” he said, propping himself up on the mattress with his hands.Louis' eyes popped open and he looked up at him, totally lost. “What?”“For a while,” Harry continued, the idea taking hold. “Hang out with my mom. Work on my script. Be with you.”Louis had already resigned himself to the fact that this weekend was a crack in the space-time continuum that would soon close, sending him and Harry back to their respective,verydifferent lives. It would be a memory that would keep him warm when he was an old, old man – that time one ofPeople’s 50 Most Beautiful had kept him on his hands and knees for two days straight.He wasn’t so stupid as to hope for more.“You’re crazy,” Louis scoffed.Harry’s eyes shone. “Am I?”A few weeks after Louis and Harry, *ahem*,reconnectat their high school reunion, Harry temporarily moves back home. Louis isn't sure he has the emotional fortitude for a prolonged fling with the man of the dreams.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Not That Gone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563454
Comments: 146
Kudos: 606





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So several months ago, I thought it would be fun to adapt the story of Chris Evans going to his high school reunion the weekend that _Avengers: Endgame_ came out into a fun little one-shot. Unexpectedly, a lot of you asked for a sequel, which was extremely nice and made me feel very good! 
> 
> The result is this. For those of you who wanted it, I hope it meets your expectations. I loved spending this additional time with these characters and bringing new ones into the universe. It got way out of hand, but doesn't it always?
> 
> You don't have to have read [Hello My Name Is Harry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983122) to understand this story, but it's very short and I recommend that you do.
> 
> If you're from Boston for real, I apologize. I'm very much not and I took a lot of liberties. The important thing is that these boys grew up in a small town. On the plus side, no overly exaggerated Boston accents?
> 
> All my love to [Kim,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimmieRocks/pseuds/crinkle-eyed-boo)[ Maggie,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface%22)[ Gillian,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeah_alright/pseuds/yeah_alright) and Shannon for supporting me always. All remaining errors are mine.
> 
> The title comes from Mat Kearney's "Fire and Rain," which is basically the one-song soundtrack to this fic. I've listened to it hundreds of times over the last few months, so you're welcome for the streams, Mat.

With less than a month left in the school year, the mood at Bedford High could be classified as buoyant. There are still finals to survive, but summer vacation lies just beyond, so even the highest achievers don’t seem to be sweating them. From the administration on down, everyone is more talkative and forgiving than usual, the standard catty gossip replaced with chatter about the end-of-year events still to come.

As far as Louis is concerned, his summer begins the moment that strike for the spring musical is done. This year, he’d successfully sweet-talked the school board into letting him put on  _ Urinetown,  _ and his kids had taken to the material like ducks to water. But there’s a moment in every spring production – no matter how successful – when Louis questions every one of the life choices that brought him there. In the end it’s always worth it: beaming parents, shy kids showing off their gifts, bonds formed backstage. Separately, teaching and theater are his two favorite things. Together, they’re his calling.

Twelve years he’s been the drama teacher at Bedford. And while people who get their information from local newscasts like to talk at him about “kids today” whenever they learn what he does, Louis has found that every teen, no matter what generational nickname gets foisted upon them, wants the same things. They want to feel appreciated and listened to. Even the ones who claim they don’t need it  _ crave  _ validation. Louis relates to them the most.

The last few weeks of school are progressing the way that they always do. The only change to Louis’ regularly scheduled programming just buzzed in his pocket.

He pulls out his phone the same moment he pushes open the double doors just outside the choir room, the late May afternoon sun momentarily blinding him. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then opens them to find a photo from Harry: a sleek grey suitcase upright with its handle fully extended. He watches the three dots blink in the bottom left corner as he strolls out of the school parking lot, until another message arrives.

_ You ready for me? _

His heart clenches. It’s been doing that a lot lately.

There are times when he questions whether their reunion and the two days that followed really happened. It’s the stuff of a not even particularly nuanced daydream. Harry Styles, international movie star, waltzed back into Louis' life, confessed that the crush Louis had thought of as hopeless was actually mutual, and then spent most of the next 48 hours in his bed.

And it wasn’t just sex, though every one of his muscles still ached long after Harry was gone. They talked – about everything and nothing, private jokes Louis had been on the verge of purposely forgetting purely out of spite, their families, what Harry missed about home.

They also talked about Harry’s script – a romantic two-hander – between slices of greasy pizza, and Harry even let Louis read a few scenes on his phone, as promised. He has a knack for dialogue, though he buried his face in the pillow when Louis told him this. But Harry still insisted that there were massive edits to be done, as he hadn’t touched the thing for the two years he was filming and promoting the last two movies in his franchise. 

Around four in the afternoon on day two, Harry was dropping kisses on Louis' chest and heading downwards when he abruptly stopped.

“I can move back here,” he said, propping himself up on the mattress with his hands.

Louis' eyes popped open and he looked up at him, totally lost. “What?”

“For a while,” Harry continued, the idea taking hold. “Hang out with my mom. Work on my script. Be with you.”

Louis had already resigned himself to the fact that this weekend was a crack in the space-time continuum that would soon close, sending him and Harry back to their respective,  _ very  _ different lives. It would be a memory that would keep him warm when he was an old, old man – that time one of  _ People’ _ s 50 Most Beautiful had kept him on his hands and knees for two days straight.

He wasn’t so stupid as to hope for more.

“You’re crazy,” Louis scoffed.

Harry’s eyes shone. “Am I?”

He proceeded to talk through the whole thing, pacing nude around Louis' bedroom. He had a break coming up, three months before his next shoot and zero pending press responsibilities. His mom had been begging him to come for a longer visit. She didn’t much care for LA, and Harry knew he enjoyed having her there in his house more than she did the traffic, the juice bars, and ever-present paparazzi. It was the perfect opportunity, he said, gesturing animatedly. He could buckle down, finish his rewrite, and maybe even get this thing off the ground.

Just as suddenly as the idea had hit him, Harry had another epiphany and surged towards the bed, grabbing Louis' hand.

“God, I’m so sorry. I’m such a dick. I should have said this first.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you, Lou. I think it’s obvious, if I’m here, I’m going to want to see you. But I don’t want to get in the way of your life or anything you have...going on…” He trailed off, then bit down on his lip. 

Harry stared hopefully at Louis with wide, trusting eyes; his halo of sex hair making him appear dangerously vulnerable.

“I think it’s pretty obvious I’m going to want to see you too, you loon,” Louis said finally, waving a hand in the general direction of their naked bodies. “And I wouldn’t have brought you here if I were dating someone else. I know you’re irresistible and everything, but I have  _ some _ integrity, thank you.”

Harry grinned happily, his bravado from the reunion long gone. He looked young. Boyish.

“But won’t you be bored?” Louis asked, still skeptical.

“Not with you to entertain me,” Harry said wolfishly, then proceeded to finish the job this conversation had interrupted.

Louis wanted to believe him, he really did. But the whole scheme was so out there, he only survived the next week by assuming that he’d bump into Harry next at their 30th reunion.

Yet, the possibility became more real with each passing day, leading up to now, when only a six-hour flight stands between Louis and being utterly, blissfully wrong.

Turning down a familiar street, he sends his reply.

_ Safe flight, Curly. Keeping Bedford warm for you. _

Almost immediately, he gets three blushing emojis in response.

Louis pushes through the double doors of the police station, raising a hand in greeting to Officer Lucas on reception duty. As soon as the weather’s nice enough, Louis walks to and from school, his house being a little less than a mile away. He knows Niall’s schedule well enough to know what days he can stop by the station on the way home and find him doing his end-of-shift paperwork. Niall relies on these visits, says they’re the only thing stopping him from taking a match to the pile and walking out.

“Sergeant Horan,” Louis says when he rounds the corner, raising a hand in an exaggerated salute.

“Thank you, Jesus,” Niall addresses the ceiling, then looks back at Louis. “You’re just in time, I was two seconds from putting my hand in this drawer and slamming it.” He inclines his head towards the other room. “Like any of them would care.”

Louis falls into the chair next to Niall’s desk. “Aw, buck up, pumpkin. You’re serving and protecting.”

“Worst part of the fucking job,” Niall grumbles. “Today’s adventures in crime-stopping included–” He makes a big show of flipping through the incident reports on his desk. “–finding Mrs. Grimshaw’s dog when he escaped from the dog park and retrieving a–” He employs air quotes here. “–stolen’ wallet, which the guy had just left where he was having lunch. And I’ve been sitting here filling out forms for an hour. System’s fucking broken, Louis.”

“So you’ve said,” Louis smirks, unusually game to indulge Niall’s complaints.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Niall puts down his pen and sighs, then brightens. “Tomorrow’s the big day.”

Louis fiddles with Niall’s desk calendar and avoids looking at him. “What big day?’

“Uh, the first day of the rest of your life? Prince fucking Charming should be on his way right now, right? Or should I say,  _ Captain _ Charming?” He waggles his eyebrows as though it’s him who has the fuck-buddy coming to town.

“It’s not–” It’s Louis' turn to sigh. “It’s not like that. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

“No, I am blowing it  _ in  _ proportion,” Niall says seriously.

Louis scrunches his nose, questioning Niall’s choice of words, but he plows ahead.

“Harry’s uprooting his life for _you._ Excuse me for being a little excited for my best friend.”

“It’s not for me,” Louis attempts. “It’s for his career. His writing aspirations. Whatever.”

“He could go sit on some private millionaire island if he just wanted to get away from it all. But instead he’s coming to  _ you.  _ To where  _ you _ are.” Niall sits back in his chair, satisfied with his argument.

“It’s not permanent,” Louis couches, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“So? Nothing’s permanent,” Niall says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me one thing in this life that’s permanent...besides paperwork.”

“I just don’t think he’s really thought it through. People are going to be all over him. There’s nothing to do…”

“You’re always forgetting that Harry knows this place, Lou. He’s not a stranger. He’s one of us.”

“I just don’t want him to regret it,” Louis says after a beat.

“You mean that you don’t want him to regret  _ you,”  _ Niall says wisely. “He doesn’t, obviously. Not yet anyway.”

Louis grimaces. “Thanks.”

“Just...don’t write him off before you even see him again, okay? Give the guy a chance. He surprised you once already. He might just do it again.”

*****

Louis is sitting down at his couch and queuing up the season finale of  _ Killing Eve _ later that night when he gets a FaceTime call.

(He’s usually in bed by now – early mornings and all – but tonight, he just isn’t feeling sleepy yet. He also wants to know if Harry got in safely, but those two things can’t possibly be connected. It’s not like they’re in a relationship.)

He runs a hand through his soft, product-free hair, then answers. Harry’s face, glowing in the warm light of his mom’s homey kitchen, fills the screen.

“Hey, superstar,” Louis says with a small smile. He has no idea where he pulled the nickname came from, except that “Curly” had suited Harry better when he was apple-cheeked and lived on string cheese and was not globally famous.

“Hi, Lou.” He looks gorgeous, but sounds tired. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, not at all. Just watching some TV. How was your flight?”

“A little delayed, but otherwise fine. And Scout was a perfect traveler. Weren’t you, buddy?” 

Harry moves the phone away from his face to show Louis his brown and white mutt, curled up on a dog bed in the corner of the room. Louis isn’t surprised to see him. From social media, it seems as though they’re attached at the hip. There’s no way Harry would have left him in California.

“Looks like the trip wore him out,” Louis says, then Harry’s back.

“Mmm,” Harry agrees.

Louis takes in the purple smudges under his eyes, the rasp in his already husky voice.

“You should get some rest too. You didn’t have to call tonight.”

“You didn’t have to wait up for me to call,” Harry says with a sly smile, his tired gaze sharpening. “But here we both are.”

Louis fish-mouths, caught. “I–I have insomnia.”

“No,” Harry chuckles, “You don’t.”

“Please shut up.”

Then Harry looks down at the table, almost shyly. Louis can hear his mother washing dishes in the background. 

“Anyway, I know it’s late, especially for you. I just wanted to see...I don’t know, are you totally busy with work tomorrow? Can I see you sometime?”

His sharp turns from cocky charm into heartbreaking vulnerability are going to give Louis whiplash. He spent his last two years of high school breaking his own heart over this boy. Of course he can make the time.

“Lucky for you, my first two periods are free,” Louis says, trying to sound breezy. “I usually catch up on grading and stuff, but we could get breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Harry rolls it around in his mouth like it’s a new concept, then grins. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

*****

Louis was going to be late.

It wasn’t his fault, Mrs. Williams had kept him back in World History asking for another draft of his paper on the Second Boer War. He’d done his part, nodded emphatically and agreed with everything she said. But she seemed to want a nice, long chat about guerilla warfare, refusing to heed Louis' protests that he was meant to be down at the auditorium by 3:30pm sharp to audition for the school play.

Everyone knew Mr. Corden didn’t arrange makeups. You either made it there on time or missed out on the entire spring production. And though this year’s wasn’t a musical – the school board having decided on alternating with plays, which they assumed were less expensive – Louis wouldn’t know what to do with himself for the next few months if he were left out.

He rounded the corner at a run, sneakers squeaking loudly on the terrazzo floor. Lungs burning, he slowed his legs when he saw a line of kids sitting in the hallway, waiting their turn on stage. Louis doubled over, relieved, and stalked over to the last person, slinging his backpack onto the ground next to him, and his body after it.

“Corden call anybody yet?” he asked when he had the breath to do so.

“No, I don’t think so,” the boy next to him said, looking up from his sides. “I just got here right before you though.”

Louis considered him for a moment – shoulder-length dark brown curls under a Concord Academy Athletics hoodie and bottle green eyes – coming to the conclusion that he’s never met this person before.

“Thanks.”

He pulled his backpack between his open knees and unzipped it, searching for his own signed audition form and sides. Louis had been off-book for a week, but he started to read back over the lines anyway, mouthing them to himself.

“Is it competitive?”

He looked to his right, finding the boy looking at him again. “What?”

“Getting into the play, is it hard?”

“I dunno. Depends on what grade you are, I suppose.” He wanted to say that it also depends on talent, but determined that it might be rude and unnecessary to that point out.

“I’m a junior.”

“Me too,” Louis said kindly.

They must not have had any classes together that semester. He would have noticed the new kid with the wide, eager smile that takes up the entire bottom half of his face.

“So we have a good shot. More upperclassmen get speaking roles, usually.”

“Wicked.”

“Which one are you going for?”

The boy’s eyes flicked back up to Louis', his brow furrowed.

“Which character do you want to get?” Louis prompted.

“Oh.” The boy dipped his chin, cheeks coloring. “I hadn’t really thought about that yet, actually. I just want to be _ in _ the play. I’ve never been in a play before.”

“You’re a jock.”

“Heeeeyy,” he drawled, looking offended.

“It’s not a moral judgment,” Louis laughed, not hating that he’d been able to draw out that reaction. “Just–” He pointed to the logo on the boy’s hoodie.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I swim,” he said, expression smoothing out. “‘M Harry, by the way. Harry Styles. I used to go to Concord...obviously.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis spotted a note Harry had written himself in the margins of his sides: “BREATHE, and be honest.”

Suddenly, he was rooting for the both of them.

“I’m Louis Tomlinson,” he said, holding out his hand. “And I’ll be playing the part of Lloyd Dallas.”


	2. Chapter 2

Louis pushes open the door of the cafe closest to the high school, setting the bells on the frame tingling. 

“Have a seat darlin’, I’ll be right with you,” calls a waitress swooping past him with a tray of cinnamon rolls. 

Louis nods, wringing his hands in front of his waist. Even the usually calming scent of spice and warm icing fails to comfort him.

He has no idea where the nerves are coming from. It’s not like this a first date or anything. It’s eight am, for a start.

Still, he’s incapable of doing anything without overthinking it, including choosing a table. Louis sweeps his eyes over the half-full cafe, assessing empty spots. He decides on a booth, sliding into the side facing the door. That way,  _ he’ll  _ see Harry when he arrives, but Harry will be practically invisible to everyone but him after he sits down. 

He picks up the menu the waitress drops off, scanning the words, but not taking anything in.

How does Harry even get _around_ , he wonders. Shouldn’t he have some silent, mountainous security guard following him whenever he’s out in public in case somebody wants to start a fight with Captain America? 

Maybe he does, Louis thinks, wildly considering finding a bigger booth for the three of them. 

Then the bells ring again, and Louis cranes his neck to get a full view of the door.

He has a few precious moments before Harry spots him, just to stare. 

Harry is rumpled and casual this morning, clad in a black zip-up hoodie with multi-colored stripes – not exactly in rainbow order, but Louis counts it as Pride-adjacent anyway – over a cobalt blue-shirt. His hair is pulled up into an impressive but hasty bun, and it looks like he skipped his shave this morning, a shadow defining his jaw and crawling down his neck. Louis swallows deeply, because it’s almost exactly how Harry had looked the afternoon he finally left his apartment, before Louis let him borrow a razor and then stood just outside the bathroom door, boldly watching him drag it down his face. They hadn’t talked as it happened, but Harry kept catching Louis' eye in the mirror. He gave a thorough performance, the little shit, purposely slowing down his routine for Louis' benefit.

It took a few days of using the same razor for it to not immediate activate Louis' sense memory, bringing flashes of their similarly thorough fucking crashing back into his brain.

Harry slides his $1000 (Louis is guessing) aviators off his face and surveys the room. He lights up when he spots Louis, and Louis' stomach does a backflip.

It’s the double-layer of familiarity that he’ll never get used to. He knows Harry because they once saw each other nearly every single day, but he also knows him because his stern, heroic face has looked down on him from 50-foot tall billboards. Louis is having breakfast with a walking mindfuck.

“Hey,” Harry says, strolling over to the booth. Someone at the counter looks over his shoulder at him and Louis’ protective instincts are tripped, but the man almost immediately goes back to his coffee.

Should he stand? Louis should stand.

He tries to minimize the awkwardness of sliding out of the booth to meet Harry, who is nice enough to pretend not to notice when Louis bangs his knee on the table leg.

“Hi.”

Louis doesn’t know what kind of greeting this is, so he lets Harry lead it. Soon, he’s enveloped in a short, tight hug – the kind you give your friend you haven’t seen in a while – Harry squeezing him around his shoulders. He smells like sleep and yesterday’s cologne, and Louis is touched that he got up this early after a long day of travel just to see him.

Overwhelmed, Louis ducks his head when they pull apart, hiding from Harry’s famously intense gaze.

“This okay?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” Harry says, sitting across from Louis and looking around. “This place has changed.”

“A new owner took over maybe five years ago? Had the idea to make it more upscale, kind of hipstery.”

“I see CBD lattes have made it to Boston,” Harry smirks, perusing the drink selection.

“You ought to feel right at home, then.”

Harry flips the menu over and frowns. “I dunno, it’s kind of sad, isn’t it? That diner was iconic. I must have been here at least three times a week.”

“Ordering toast and tea and sitting here for four hours,” Louis shakes his head. “I can’t believe they put up with all of us.”

“Not like we had anywhere else to go.”

“That one waitress, remember? She wanted to adopt you,” Louis suddenly recalls. “She gave us those cookies with the bill, the ones they usually only gave to little kids? I’d only ever get them when I was with you.”

“Seriously?” Harry accepts an ice water from their current waitress, favoring her with a blinding smile. 

“Uh, yeah, case in fucking point,” Louis gestures at him when she’s gone. “If I came here with anybody else, she’d act like she’d never seen me before! It was humiliating.”

Harry snorts, and returns to his menu. Louis studies the top of his head, eyes following the ridges where his fingers had pulled his long curls up into the elastic.

“I’m glad you grew it out,” he says, before he can think the better of it.

Harry’s eyes flick back to him, his brow furrowed. Louis tilts his chin up, and his meaning dawns on Harry.

“Ah. Well, my agent didn’t want me to, not until the press tour was over. But he came around. Something about not getting typecast.”

“It suits you,” Louis says. “Not that the short wasn’t nice, but…”

“It wasn’t me,” Harry interrupts, shrugging. “It was him, and that was fine. That’s the job, being other people. But it’s been nice to be myself for a while, at least with this.”

Another flashback hits Louis: raking Harry’s hair back with his fingernails as he sat on his thighs and kissed him until their lips were red and swollen. The next time he has to cut it for a role, Louis will have to set aside a mourning period.

“There’s just one thing I don’t…” Harry abandons the sentence. “Never mind, it’s dumb.”

“Hey, come on,” Louis smiles encouragingly. “We used to tell each other dumb stuff all the time. No need to stop now.”

“I shouldn’t complain, I know it comes with the territory,” Harry says carefully. “But people feel like they’re allowed to, like, touch it? Like, they get the boundaries with bodies, but they think it doesn’t apply to hair.”

He’s downplaying it, but Louis can tell it really bothers him. And why wouldn’t it? It’s a violation, plain and simple.

“Harry, that’s not dumb. No one should be touching any part of you without permission. You’re still a person.”

Harry offers him a small smile. “Thank you for saying that. Sometimes I feel like I’m overreacting. Usually they don’t mean any harm.”

“God, are you kidding? I’d be furious. You’re not a piece of meat, I don’t care how famous you are.”

“I’m like,  _ really  _ famous,” Harry teases, purposely lightening the mood. Louis balls up his napkin and lobs it at his face.

The waitress returns to take their order: eggs, bacon, and an English muffin for Louis; avocado toast with red pepper flakes for Harry.

“Diner lady would hardly approve, Harold,” Louis chides after their menus are taken away.

He takes a sip of his coffee and shakes his head. “My tastes have evolved, okay? I don’t eat Apple Jacks straight out of the box anymore either. Diner lady supports me.”

“Just keep that shit away from me,” Louis cautions, only half-joking.

They fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, holding eye contact, contented smiles tugging at their lips.

“You have permission, by the way,” Harry says eventually, his gaze still steady. 

“For what?”

“To touch my hair. Me.”

The water he’s drinking goes down the wrong pipe, and Louis coughs. 

“I’ll respect your boundaries, obviously,” Harry continues, unfazed. “But I just wanted you to know–”

“Hey, fellas.”

Louis tears his eyes away from Harry to find Liam Payne standing over their table, looking as handsome and chipper as always in his light blue scrubs. How irritating.

“Liam!” Harry practically jumps to his feet, shaking Liam’s hand and gripping his bicep. Louis jealously notes the size of it and offers Liam a weak smile.

“Good to see you, man. Didn’t you just get in?”

“Yeah, last night,” Harry says, leaning his slim hips back against the table.

“You’re not wasting any time then,” Liam says good-naturedly. 

Harry glances over his shoulder at Louis. “No, no, I’m not.”

Louis feels his cheeks heat up, so he changes the subject. He will not let Liam Payne see him blush.

“This is early for you too, isn’t it?” He doesn’t often see Liam on his teacher’s schedule. People with normal professions usually start their day a little later.

“It is, yeah,” Liam agrees. “I usually don’t schedule appointments until ten, but Perrie – Harry, you remember Perrie? She was two years behind us? – She has the kids and her store, so she can really only bring Earl Grey in in the mornings, after she drops them off at school.”

“Earl Grey?” Louis prompts.

“Blue Persian, nine years old. Getting over a bladder infection,” Liam rattles off. “She’s a trooper.”

“Of course. How silly of me.”

“You the to-go order, love?” the busy waitress asks Liam as she hustles by again.

“That’s me.”

“Hang tight, it’ll just be a minute.”

“Well, it’s good to have you home again, Harry,” he says, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Can we hang out soon? You too, Louis.” 

Louis gives him a close-lipped smile that he hopes looks more convincing than it feels.

“Definitely.” Harry shakes Liam’s hand again. “I’ll text you, alright?”

The waitress hands Liam a to-go coffee cup and a small, white bag. 

“Thanks.” He raises the cup to her, then turns back to Louis and Harry. “I should get going. See you both soon, I hope. Enjoy your breakfast!”

“Tell Earl Grey we said hello,” Harry shouts at his back, then drops back into his seat. “Such a good guy. Are you gonna tell me why you don’t like him?”

Louis sputters, annoyed by Harry’s knowing smirk and offhand tone.

“I don’t  _ not  _ like him,” he hedges. “We just never really hit it off, I don’t know.”

“I find it hard to believe that Liam’s ever done anything to upset anybody.”

Louis throws out his hands, palms up. “That’s exactly it! He’s a boy scout, ever since we were kids. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he was an  _ actual  _ boy scout.”

“So your problem with Liam is that he’s...what, too nice?”

Louis raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Among other things.”

“Mmhmm, and how many of these things date back to high school?”

“Who took the basketball team to the championships?” Louis says, leaning forward and counting off on his fingers. “Liam Payne. Who set every curve? Liam Payne. Who won class president by such a landslide that the runner-up  _ cried _ when she found out? Liam. Payne.”

“He works hard and he’s good at stuff. Is that so bad?”

“Well of course  _ you  _ wouldn’t see why that’s so god damn aggravating.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you two are going to sit around and congratulate each other on being perfect specimens, you can leave me out of it.” He’s well aware how petulant he’s being, but he can’t help it. The guy just grates on his nerves.

Their breakfasts arrive, Louis scrunching his nose in disgust at the mashed avocado piled high on Harry’s plate.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Harry says, cutting into his meal. “You have your choice, but you have to give at least one of them a try.”

Louis wants to (nicely) tell him to fuck off, that he doesn’t  _ have _ to do shit. But some part of him is desperate to please Harry and ready to accept it if he wants to shake up his life.

He sighs, putting his utensils down. “What are my choices?”

Harry smiles in triumph, eyes sparkling. “Either we switch breakfasts and you eat every last bite of this, or you actually spend some time with Liam and  _ really  _ get to know him.”

Louis feigns exasperation, which only seems to make Harry happier. “ _ Fine.  _ I’ll take the vet.”

Harry shoves a forkful of avocado toast into his mouth and does a little dance in his seat.

They spend the rest of their breakfast going over the smalltalk they shamelessly skipped the last time they saw each other – mostly sharing gossip about their former classmates. For as dreamlike as that fateful weekend had been, Louis decides that being in the real world with Harry is even better. He even lets Louis handle the check.

The late-spring sun is bearing down when they step outside, the chill of the early morning burned off. They both don their sunglasses, and once again, Louis isn’t sure what the protocol is.

“Thanks for coming to meet me,” he says, following Harry to his mom’s car.

“Of course,” Harry says easily. “Can I give you a ride to school? I only owe you about a hundred.”

Louis grins and looks down at his feet, the back of his neck burning. He’s tempted to take Harry up on his suggestion, but he still has a full day ahead of him, and if he doesn’t process this before he has 30 teenagers breathing down his neck, he won’t make it.

“Nah, thank you though. It’s a nice morning and it’s not far – I usually like to get a walk in. Clear my head.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. “I don’t want to bother you when you’re busy, so will you text me later?”

“You’re not sick of me?” Louis teases, hating himself for edge of vulnerability in his tone.

Harry takes two steps away from the car, so he’s right in Louis' space, then reaches up and lightly cups his jaw. Louis stills under his touch, though his heart pounds away in his ribcage.

“When are you going to understand?” he asks, his voice dropping to an octave that’s inappropriate for this parking lot at this time of day.

“What?” Louis breathes.

“That I can’t get enough of you?”

Ignoring Louis' dumbfounded expression, Harry leans in and brushes his lips against his cheek. Louis' cock twitches in interest.

“I  _ could  _ call in sick,” he wildly proposes as Harry walks away again.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Harry says, folding himself into his mom’s Kia Optima and looking fetchingly out-of-place. He rolls the window down and props up his elbow on the frame – James Dean in a mid-range four-door sedan. “We’re going to do this the right way this time. I’m going to date the shit out of you, Louis Tomlinson. I hope you’re ready.”

*****

Louis was the first out of his chair when the eighth period bell rang, the tension in his body setting him off like a shot. They were given 25 minutes to make it to the auditorium, but the adrenaline coursed through his veins anyway. It was the first day of play practice. His first leading role. He’d lost almost every study hall staring at the same sentence and dreaming about this moment, so he wasn’t about to miss a second of it.

It wasn’t every day that he was happy about his size, but as he bobbed and weaved through kids making their way to the parking lot and to various afterschool activities, it was an asset. When Louis pushed down on the bar of the heavy auditorium door and came sailing through it, only Mr. Corden and his assistant director Mr. Higgins were there, organizing scripts on the lip of the stage. They both whirled around when the door slammed shut.

“Well, if it isn’t our leading man,” Mr. Corden said with a flourish as Louis made his way down the center aisle. “I assume you’re going to be this punctual for the entire run, yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“You know it, sir.” Louis flinged his backpack into a row about halfway into the orchestra, knowing that the company would take up the first couple of rows.

“As long you’re here…” Mr. Corden handed Louis a script, which he promptly claimed by writing out “Tommo” on the top right corner with the Sharpie in his hand. He already had his own copy, ordered from a secondhand seller on Half.com, of course. Because an actor prepares.

Mr. Corden and Mr. Higgins shared a smile over his eagerness, but Louis didn’t care. He pulled a highlighter from the outer pocket of his cargo shorts, settled into a seat in the front row, and began to page through the script, going over his lines in thick strips of neon yellow. After a few minutes, other cast members began to trickle in, munching on bags of chips from the vending machines and sipping diet sodas. 

Louis swapped low fives with his friends Jade and Jesy, both dance students and musical ensemble regulars who decided to try their hand at a straight play for the first time and scored speaking roles. He knew almost everyone in the room except for a few of the lowerclassmen, who all looked considerably less comfortable than the drama vets, under the circumstances.

Once he’d said hello to everyone he was friendly with, Louis found himself leaning over and combing the auditorium for the boy from auditions. He told himself it was because Harry was a bit of a wildcard: he was a junior, yes, but a new student as well, and apparently brand new to performing. Lack of experience aside, he’d won the role of Tim, the harried stage manager, who spends the entire play trying to keep the rest of the characters in line. Louis had been pleased to see Harry’s name on the posted list, though they hadn’t run into each other in the week since.

He was looking back at the door when Harry finally came through it and charged down the aisle, his track pants making swishing sounds with every step he took. When his eyes focused and he saw Louis, Harry grinned, making for the empty seat next to him without hesitation.

“Hey,” he said, as he plopped down. Unlike the previous week, he was in head-to-toe Bedford athletic gear. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis saw Jade and Jesy give him an appraising onceover from their cross-legged positions on the floor. It made Louis feel a bit protective of him. Harry could be an athlete and a drama kid too. Louis himself had been on the soccer team until his sophomore year, when the two activities started to conflict too much. But with swim practices in the mornings, he was guessing Harry didn’t have that problem. Anyway, he would have had to get the okay from his swim coach to even sign up for the play. It was stupid that the coaches got priority over Mr. Corden when it came to students’ time, but that was hardly Harry’s fault.

“Hey yourself,” Louis said with a smile. Noting his approval, Jade and Jesy went back to their conversation.

“I’m nervous,” Harry said, leaning into Louis and speaking quietly. “Are you nervous?”

“Nah, not yet. This is the fun part.”

“Yeah?”

“Especially in the beginning. We’ll start to work on scenes and stuff, but Corden also has all these theater games. Some of them are pretty weird, but everybody gets into them.”

“Cool.” Harry sat back, satisfied.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Louis said, leaning into Harry this time. “Not a bad part for your first play. The stage manager’s hilarious.”

“Thanks.” Harry flushed a little, and the word “pretty” splashed across Louis' brain. Oh, no. 

“Uh, don’t mention it,” he muttered, flattening his back against his seat again.

Unbothered, Harry reached into the zippered front pocket of his bag and pulled out a navy blue scrunchie. Louis silently watched him, fascinated as he gathered his hair into a small nub of a ponytail at the back of his head. His ears were small and doll-like.

“I steal them from my sister,” he said matter-of-factly once the whole ritual is completed, anticipating Louis' question. Then, like he forgot something: “Oh, and I’m glad you got the part you wanted. You must be really good, Louis.”

Harry had never even seen him act, but Louis wanted to treasure the compliment anyway.

It felt dangerous. He’d walked into this room with all the confidence in the world, but the ground beneath him had already destabilized.

What inconvenient timing.

“Alright everybody, let’s get on our feet,” Corden bellowed, and they were off.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis' final project for his senior drama students is always the same: a performance of their chosen monologue.

There’s more to it than that, of course. Louis has defined a multi-step project over the years, involving plenty of written analysis. The kids have to be able to intelligently explain why they picked the monologue they did  _ and  _ prove that they fully understand it.

They’re still early in the process, so he’s spent most of this morning thus far grading their support papers. He knows what each of his students is performing already – they had to get his approval before they even started working. It’s a necessary formality, though he hasn’t rejected many ideas over the years. Louis considers himself to be remarkably flexible and moderately hip, and far be it from him to discriminate between a  _ Scandal  _ soliloquy and William Shakespeare himself.

His concentration is broken when his phone vibrates on his desk. He’s only slightly surprised to see Niall’s name on the display. As well as he knows his best friend’s schedule, Niall knows his. He’d never make the mistake of calling during a period when Louis was teaching.

Louis taps the green button and then hits speaker.

“Go for Louis.”

“Is that how you’re answering the phone now?” Louis can make out a lilt of amusement, even as the wind whips around Niall’s voice.

“I’m trying something.”

“Well maybe you should try something else,” Niall says. “Anyway: business. I have a favor to ask you.”

“I realize my response to that should be something like, ‘Anything for you, Niall,’ but it’s not.”

“Your devotion touches me every day, Tommo. Listen: Ed and Lewis, they’re out for dodgeball.”

Louis leans forward abruptly and drops his pen onto his desk. The Bedford social sports club had just formed a few months back, and Niall and Louis had starting putting a team together the moment they realized the dodgeball season fit into their lives. Louis had been looking forward to it: the thrill of dumb, meaningless competition, the camaraderie, the excuse for being an adult in a bar past midnight…

“Those  _ traitors,” _ he hisses. “I suppose they have something better to do?”

Niall sighs. “Wives are in a book club,” he explains. “Apparently they picked Wednesdays too, and according to Barbara, they, quote, were here first. So Ed and Lewis are on kid duty.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Louis, please. The youth of America are looking to  _ you.” _

“What’s the favor?”

“Hm?”

“You said you called me because you needed a favor,” Louis prompts, annoyed not really at Niall, but at the situation. Their first game was meant to be tomorrow night. The drop deadline is today; if they back out later, they’ll lose their deposit. “Should I tell them we’re dropping?”

“Uh,  _ no,  _ we’re not going down like that, my friend.” Of course Niall has a plan. He was  _ born  _ with a plan. “I just need you to ask Harry–”

“No.”

“–and Liam–”

_ “No.” _

“–if they can do it.”

“One thousand percent absolutely not,” Louis declares peevishly.

“ _ Why?”  _ Niall whines. “You have access to a  _ literal Avenger,  _ and you don’t want him on our team?”

“The Avengers aren’t real, Niall.”

“Yeah, well, their personal trainers are.”

Louis pushes himself out of his chair, palming his phone and bringing it with him to pace around the room. “But, like...dodgeball? It’s stupid. Totally juvenile. There’s no way he’ll want to do it.”

“Famous people do stupid things too, Louis. He’s just rich, he’s not a martian. Anyway, you think he wants to be cooped up in the house all day? We gotta entertain the guy. And Liam–”

Louis groans, picturing Liam’s locally famous biceps in the orange t-shirts he and Niall had designed, the whole team carrying him on their shoulders after he once again wins them the game.

“– _ Liam,”  _ Niall continues, “is super athletic  _ and  _ a good friend of Harry’s, who’ll make him feel even more at home. It’s a win-win. Plus, we don’t have to drop out, so it’s a win-win- _ win.” _

Louis stares at the stack of papers on his desk. The game was supposed to be his reward for getting through them. 

“Please, Louis,” Niall pleads. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“ _ Fine,”  _ Louis grits out. “But if he laughs at me, I’m not coming to your office to distract you for a month.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Niall says, sounding sunnier. “The rec center, 6:30 sharp.” 

He hangs up a second later, and Louis notes the time. His play analysis class will be streaming through the doors in less than four minutes, so there’s no time to agonize over what he’s going to say.

Opening his and Harry’s chat window, Louis types out a quick note, keeping it as noncommittal as possible.

_ Superstar, I don’t know if you’re busy tomorrow night, but we need a few more for dodgeball. It’s this adult recreational thing...pathetically trying to recapture our youth, etc, etc. If you and Liam could make it that would be cool, but totally not a big deal if you can’t.  _

He drops his phone on the desk once it’s sent, vowing silently to humiliate Niall the next chance he gets. The reply buzz is almost immediate. The bell sounds and voices and movement fill the hallway outside his door. Louis checks his phone again.

_ For real?? Hell yes I’ll be there. I’ll ask Liam right now but I’m sure he can do it too. Just tell me when and where. _

Louis smiles to himself. Harry’s enthusiasm is still infectious.

His fingers are poised to write back, but another text arrives before he can begin.

_ Let it be known, however, that this doesn’t count as, nor does it take the place of, a date.  _

Harry follows it by two of the single-eyebrow-raise emojis and Louis snorts into his hand. 

_ Ok, I’ve been warned,  _ Louis responds.

Harry responds with a gif of Mad Eye Moody shouting “CONSTANT VIGILANCE.” Louis' grin is so wide when his kids arrive that one of the cheeky ones has the gall to ask what he’s so happy about.

The rest of the day passes in routine, if a little slower than usual. Late spring school days are almost interminable, and the teachers gaze as longingly through the windows at the sunny weather outside as the students do. The best Louis can ask for is one like today, where he’s done as soon as the kids’ dismissal process is over, with no after-hours meetings. 

He hasn’t heard from Harry since he sent him the dodgeball club details, so Louis' evening plans involve catching up on  _ Jane the Virgin  _ and cooking for himself. Soon, he hopes, he’ll be secure enough to be the one who does the inviting – to something other than an uncoordinated game of rec center dodgeball. But for now, he’s much more comfortable following Harry’s lead, and Harry must already have plans for tonight.

The small thrill of freedom rises in his chest as Louis steps out into the afternoon, rolling up the sleeves of his thin, summer sweater. He’s about to take his usual left out of the parking lot, but there’s something there that doesn’t belong.

Not ten feet in front of him, Harry Styles leans on the back of his mom’s sensible car, waiting.

He looks like six feet of sin, wearing tight blue jeans and a clingy white t-shirt, classic black Ray-Bans over his eyes. His hair is loose today, falling onto his shoulders and framing a cocky smile that makes Louis want to bend him in half over the hood. 

When he spots Louis, he grins, popping his dimple. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry teases, voice pitched low.

Louis has died, and this is his reward for putting up with so many teenage hormones. It’s the only explanation.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, drawing closer. He throws a look over his shoulder to see if any lingering students are watching them, but the coast is clear.

“Surprising you,” Harry pushes off of the car, the contraction of his abs visible through his shirt.

“Mission accomplished.” Louis' shock gives way to a smile. “But what’s the occasion?”

“It’s hot as balls.” He gestures for Louis to come around the side of the car.

“True. And?”

“ _ And _ ...” Harry opens the passenger side door for him, and Louis obediently slides in. “That calls for frozen custard.”

Louis waits until Harry’s hustled back over to his side and is sitting behind the steering wheel. “Are you kidding? That place is going to be crawling with kids right now.”

Harry doesn’t sound bothered. “Yeah, probably. I don’t mind waiting though. Do you have anywhere to be?”

“That’s not the–” Louis shakes his head. “People are going to see you. With me.”

Harry starts the car and puts it in reverse, backing slowly out of the space. “Probably will. Does that bother you?”

Not that Louis discusses his love life with his kids, but his identity isn’t a secret. He’s been out since he was 21 and living in the same town for most of his life, so it isn’t going to shock anybody to see Mr. Tomlinson out with a man. They have before, though it’s been a couple of years since he’s been in anything you could call a relationship. Louis may have to invent a new word for whatever this is.

“Of course not,” he clarifies. “They might recognize  _ you,  _ is all I’m saying. You could be making a guest appearance in a dozen Instagram stories.” Why does he have to keep reminding Harry that he’s a celebrity?

“You’d be surprised.” Harry eases out onto the main road. “People are wrapped up in their own lives,  _ especially  _ at this age.” He elbows Louis in the arm. “Remember? You miss a lot of stuff when you’re the center of your own universe.”

“Sure, but still. Somebody posts a picture. Some outlet could pick it up…” Louis tries, awkwardly. As far as he knows, Harry has never made any public comment about his sexuality, though the assumption seems to be that he’s straight. (Isn’t it always?) It’s not any of his business how Harry handles it, but Louis also doesn’t want to be the cause of a tabloid shitstorm.

“So? I’m not going to suck your dick in front of the pickup window.”

“Jesus  _ Christ, _ Harry,” Louis practically screams.

“Well, I’m not.” He smirks at Louis, who must be blushing furiously red.

“Eyes on the road,” he mutters.

They’re silent for a few seconds, then Harry speaks again, all mischief gone from his tone.

“I just feel like I missed out, you know? I must have been to this place hundreds of times, but never once with a date, like everybody else.”

Louis hums in solidarity.

“I just want to buy an ice cream cone for the guy I like, okay? Sue me.”

Louis glances to his left to find Harry looking at him, his expression open and sincere. Something warm courses through him, just as powerful as his desire for Harry but decidedly less urgent and far more terrifying.

“Okay,” he says finally, ignoring the piercing alarms of his multiple self-defense mechanisms. “Fine. Let’s go for custard. But next time, it’s my treat.”

Harry spends the rest of the short drive asking Louis about his day and what his kids are working on. Louis feels a surge of pride over Harry’s reaction to the monologue project. He’s long known it’s a good one, but to have Harry reinforce it pleases him anyway.

“I’m sure you don’t need it,” Harry says, glancing at Louis, steering with one forearm. “But maybe I could help? Come watch and give them some notes?”

Strangely enough, it’s not the first time a guy he was seeing offered some expertise. He and Ryan had talked about it for months – that Ryan would drive out from the city, visit Louis' class, and work with them individually on their monologues. But then they broke up – it was a long time coming too – and the seniors didn’t get the professional Boston-area actor they were promised.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m fully aware of that, thank you,” Harry says, almost sharply. “I  _ do  _ make decisions for myself, Louis, you don’t have to babysit me.”

It’s not Harry he’s trying to protect, Louis wants to tell him. But in lieu of getting into it – “it” being all the ex drama – he apologizes. He’d love Harry to come, obviously. And the kids would lose their shit, in a good way.

“Good, then it’s settled,” Harry says as he pulls into the already crowded parking lot of the custard stand. “Just tell me what day you want me to come by, and I’ll be there.”

Friendly mood restored, they get out of the car and join the line.

Harry breathes in deeply, closing his eyes in pleasure. “God, I love that smell. I  _ missed  _ that smell.”

Louis knows what he means. The sweet scent of freshly baked waffle cones mingles with the summer wind and transports him back to the summer between junior and senior year, when he was here just about daily. It’s pretty heartwarming, Louis decides, that it’s survived as a teen hangout. Minus a few older couples in line and sitting at the shaded picnic tables, the clientele – and the employees, surely – are almost all kids. One of his seniors gives him a smile and a wave as she ducks into her car, paying no attention at all to Harry. Evidently, he was right.

“Oh,” Harry breaks Louis' reverie. “Liam is in for dodgeball too. I heard from him before I picked you up.”

“Great!” Louis does his best to sound enthused. On the bright side, he can fulfill his promise to Harry by meeting Liam on his own turf, with his own friends.

Harry cocks an eyebrow, like he’s reading his mind. “And just like dodgeball doesn’t count as a date, it also doesn’t count as getting to know Liam.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have to spend some real time with him, Louis.”

“That’s where men bond, isn’t it? On the battlefield?”

Harry scoffs, but he snakes an arm around Louis' waist while he does it, so Louis isn’t as offended as he probably should be. 

“So, you’re already teammates. You’ll be best friends in time.”

But Louis isn’t listening that closely anymore, just relishing the strong fingers splayed against his side and trying desperately not to fantasize about Harry pushing him back against the wood paneling of the stand and dropping to his knees. It’s Harry’s fault for even suggesting it.

_ “Lou.” _

Louis shakes off the mental image and finds Harry looking at him expectantly. 

“Sorry, what?”

“We’re last-minute replacements, right? Whose places are we taking?”

Louis launches into the whole story that Niall told him, including Barbara’s claim to Wednesday nights.

“But I thought Niall and Barbara were–”

“Divorced, yeah,” Louis nods. “But it was so amicable, it’s scary. They still talk all the time. There’s no bad blood.”

“So what happened? If you can say.”

“That’s just it. It wasn’t a  _ thing  _ that happened _.  _ They’d been together since tenth grade...I think the relationship had just kind of ran its course. They had a good, what – 22 years?”

“Can’t ask for much more than that,” Harry muses.

“I just wish he’d start dating again,” Louis says, as they shuffle forward in the line. “He doesn’t seem very interested though. I guess it still takes some time to get over, even if the decision was mutual.”

“It’s gotta be a little intimidating, to follow up a love story like that. I get not wanting to rush into something new.”

“If he wasn’t so outgoing, I’d pity the guy. He hasn’t been out there, like  _ at all.  _ He asked Barbara to be his girlfriend when they were 15, and that was that.”

“He’ll figure it out,” Harry says sagely. “He’s kind of a babe now, anyway. People must be lining up.”

“A ‘babe’?” Louis teases.

“I know he’s your best friend, but I can admire the glow-up,” Harry says, pinching the top of Louis’ hip and making him squeal.

Embarrassingly, that’s when the party in front of them moves away from the window, leaving Louis slapping Harry’s hand away in full view of the pony-tailed young girl waiting to take their order.

“I’ll– _ I’ll,”  _ Harry shakes out his hand and tries to pull himself together, “take a chocolate almond in a waffle cone, please. Louis, what do you want?”

Surely beet red, Louis quickly scans the menu posted to the left of the window. “Ummm, peanut butter cup, please? Also in a waffle cone.”

“Comes out to $8.50,” the girl declares. Harry hands her a ten, then puts his change and an extra five into her tip jar.

“Coming right up,” she says, beaming at him, either because she recognized him, the hefty tip, or both. “You can step around.”

A boy about her same age brings their teetering cones over to the pickup window a few minutes later, and Harry’s eyes go wide.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he breathes, taking his into his right hand and grabbing a mound of napkins with the other. 

“Thanks, man,” Louis says to the boy, tickled that Harry is this excited about a little – okay, a lot – of homemade custard.

He follows Harry over to the small seating area, where they claim the end of an otherwise full picnic table. Once again, Louis' fears that Harry will be bothered by a fan are unfounded. Besides some longer, curious looks, there’s no disruption, and anyway, Harry’s not paying attention to anything other than the dark chocolate mound in front of him.

He’s going to town on it. There’s no other way to describe it. Louis runs his tongue around the base of his custard to keep it from melting onto his hand, while Harry attacks his from all sides, alternating licks and bites.

It absolutely shouldn’t turn him on, but it’s the only physiological response Louis has in him at the moment. He tries to concentrate on his own cone, but then Harry flattens his tongue over the custard for one wide, long lick, and heat starts to pool at the bottom of his spine. Either Harry has no idea what his little  _ hmms  _ of pleasure are doing to Louis right now, or he wants him to drop dead in front of two dozen teenagers. He’s 38 goddamn years old, isn’t he supposed to have a little more self-control by now?

“May I?”

Louis' eyes refocus when Harry speaks. He jerks his chin in the direction of Louis' hand, and Louis gets the picture.

“Oh, um. Sure.” Louis hands the cone over to him and Harry extends his too, for a swap. 

He could have guessed Harry wouldn’t be polite about it. He digs in with his teeth first, to get a chunk of peanut butter cup, then closes his lips around the smooth, cold custard.

Louis is lucky enough to have had his mouth on Harry himself, but sharing an ice cream cone still feels intimate and suggestive. Any tabloid journalist worth his salt would be able to craft a pretty scandalous story from a cell phone video of this. Louis is pretty sure his current thoughts are written all over his face as he takes a nip from the top of Harry’s custard.

“Still the best,” Harry says as they swap back. His lips are shiny with evidence of both flavors, and it takes every ounce of willpower Louis has not to lean across the table and taste him.

Time to claw his way back to a safe subject.

“So your mom must be happy to have you back,” Louis offers, a little desperately.

“Mmm,” Harry nods. “She is. I think she’s worried I’m a hologram or something, though. She’ll come into whatever room I’m in just to make sure I’m real. I’ve caught her a few times.”

“I can relate,” Louis says under his breath, because his brain to mouth filter is broken. So much for safe subjects.

Harry’s grin spreads wider, but he doesn’t otherwise acknowledge Louis' comment.

“Gem is coming out from the city on Friday after work to spend the weekend, she just told me,” he continues. “Which means I get some uncle time.”

“Uncle time is the best,” Louis says, going soft at the thought of his sisters’ kids — a grand total of eight between them, each easily tempted by Louis into becoming a partner in crime. Fortunately, they’ve all settled in a 50-ish mile radius, so he can be a big part of all their lives. He doesn’t know how Harry does it, being so far away from the people he loves all the time. Louis’ mom is staying in Florida with his cousin and her new baby for the entire summer, and he’s already missing her terribly. That question seems a little personal for the moment, so he tries for something less intense.

“Do they understand, like, the whole fame thing?” He bites into his cone to punctuate the question.

“Rosie just turned two. She doesn’t even really know what a movie is yet. Jackson’s ten, so, yeah, he’s right in that superhero sweet spot. When he got old enough to start watching them, we’d talk on Skype a lot. Not that I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway, but we didn’t want him to get confused or freaked out or anything.”

“I get that.”

“As for me being famous...I don’t know, I don’t think  _ I’ve  _ even wrapped my head around it yet, so I don’t expect them to totally get it. They’re just kids. All I care about is that they know that if they see me get hurt on TV or something, it isn’t real.”

“You live a strange life, Harry Styles,” Louis muses. “You get to be their hero twice over. That’s pretty cool.”

“You know...” Harry does his best to clean his hands with a stack of thin, paper napkins, having polished off his custard. “You try to hide it, but you’re one sentimental son of a bitch.

Louis guffaws, then fixes him with his sassiest look. “Of course I am, darling. I work in the theater.”

There are people standing, so Louis and Harry give up their seats as soon as they’re done and walk slowly back to the car, in no rush for this to be over.

Per Harry’s own rules, this counted as a date. But he’d never indicated how it would end. 

Louis is free tonight. Free to invite Harry in and spend the rest of the evening refamiliarizing himself with his body and those gorgeous sounds he makes. His heart thumps with anticipation as they get closer and closer to his street, Harry silent in the driver’s seat, the classic rock station playing softly from the speakers.

Without reconfirming it, Harry turns into the driveway of the correct house, puts the car into park, turns off the ignition, and looks over at Louis. His eyes are stormy – a whole rainforest – and it gives Louis courage.

“Harry, do you–”

“Wait,” Harry cuts in. He opens his door and hustles around the front of the car to get to Louis' side. Louis stills, confused, then Harry flings his door open and offers Louis one of his hands.

“Oh,” Louis manages, gripping Harry’s fingers.

Harry pulls him up like he’s weightless, till they’re standing next to the car, mere inches apart. Louis licks his lips, searching Harry’s face. There’s a dot of chocolate just to the right of the bow of his already lush mouth.

“I want to walk you to your door,” Harry says in a husky whisper.

That sounds terrifyingly temporary, but Louis nods anyway, locked into his orbit.

Harry readjusts their hands so their fingers are threaded together and leads them down the short path to Louis' front stoop. His seductive expression briefly makes way for a giddy smile – the same one Harry wore when he got his custard. Louis' heart twists strangely. He doesn’t like it.

But when he turns Louis to face him, it’s gone, and Harry’s serious again. 

“I had a great time today,” he says, slow and genuine.

“It doesn’t have to end yet,” Louis argues, sliding a palm up Harry’s forearm. “Great time still to be had, if you come in.”

Harry leans his head back and sighs, exposing his neck. 

“Unless you’re busy tonight?”

“It’s not that.” Harry’s eyes find Louis' again. “I want to. You know – you  _ have  _ to – how much I want to.”

Louis glides his fingertips over Harry’s bicep, then his chest, marveling that his t-shirt is still flawlessly white after his whole performance back at the custard stand. “So?”

Harry catches his hand and holds it to his heart. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

“Try me,” Louis smiles, his brain going hazy at Harry’s proximity.

“I came to that reunion for a few reasons – one of them was to find you. And I just thought, fuck, this is my chance. I’d built you up in my head for so long, and then there you were right in front of me. Even more beautiful than I remembered. Pictures could never do you justice, Lou.” He smirks at the memory. “You were a little bit mean at first, but it was hot.”

Louis blushes and huffs an embarrassed laugh.

“I didn’t want to waste any time,” Harry continues. “I felt like you were going to slip right through my fingers again any second. And I don’t regret a minute of that weekend. Spending two whole days in bed – that’s bucket list, right there. I guess it’s always been possible, but...I’ve never felt like that with anyone but you, where I couldn’t imagine getting dressed and walking out the door until the last possible moment.”

“Me neither,” Louis whispers. “I’ve never…”

“But now we have time,” Harry says emphatically, squeezing Louis' hand. “When we were kids, I must have imagined every single possible way of asking you out. Where we’d go, what I’d say...what I’d wear, most importantly,” he adds, with an eyebrow raise.

It’s satisfying but hard, hearing their missed connection laid out like this.

“I can’t believe we wasted it,” Louis murmurs. 

_ “No,”  _ Harry tilts Louis' chin up with his crooked index finger, his voice firm. “We weren’t ready, and that’s okay. Maybe this is even how it was always supposed to happen. But if it’s alright with you, can we take it slow? Make up for some of it?”

_ I’m going to date the shit out of you, Louis Tomlinson. _

He looks so hopeful. A man living a reality Louis can barely comprehend, who just wants to have something normal for once.

“Slow is good,” Louis agrees after a moment, with a small nod. Harry matches his smile. “I can do slow.”

“Well...” Harry flattens Louis' palm on his chest and dips his head. “Not  _ too  _ slow.”

The first thing Louis does after Harry initiates the kiss is to go searching for that dot of chocolate that’s been taunting him, tonguing along the line of his upper lip. But he can’t tell if he got it or not, because all of Harry tastes deep and bittersweet. Louis twists his fingers into his t-shirt, arching his back ever so slightly when Harry’s hands find placement right over his tailbone.

He’d been surprised, that first night, how they’d clicked physically. He could tell from the first time their lips met, right inside this very front door. At the time, he half chalked it up to the tension, building and building up to a point where he was either going to touch Harry or die. 

But the thrum of chemistry is still there between them. Louis' body still responds to every dig of Harry’s fingertips, every swipe of his tongue.

Which is why they have to stop before Louis regrets agreeing to this plan any more than he already does. 

“Mmmph,” Louis mumbles, turning his head to the side and gripping Harry’s shoulders with either hand. Harry drops one more kiss on his cheek, soft and breathy, then pulls back.

“I should probably go, right?” Harry says, his voice low. Contrary to his words, it doesn’t seem like he’s in any hurry.

“If you don’t, we might lose another couple of days.” Louis skates his fingers back down Harry’s arms to hold his hands. “And I don’t have any vacation left.”

“Okay.” Harry squeezes his hands once, then lets go, backing up so Louis can unlock his door. “Rec center tomorrow, 6:30? What should I wear?”

“Shorts.” Louis tosses a look over his shoulder and smirks. “The shorter the better, since you’re asking. Niall has our shirts.”

“We got spirit, yes we do,” Harry starts singing in a perfect cheerleader cadence and clapping to the beat, his palms flat and rigid. “We got spirit, how ‘bout you?”

Louis chuckles and pushes his door open, overtaken by the sudden urge to drag Harry in by his belt loops. If he asked, he knows, Harry wouldn’t say no. But Harry’s right – he deserves the childhood he never got. Louis can wait. And, to be honest, he kind of likes being wooed.

“What will you do now?” Louis asks, just inside and facing Harry again.

“Jerk off in my bedroom while my mom’s still at work,” Harry laughs, walking backwards. “Just like old times.”

Louis stays where he is until Harry’s car is out of sight, and his smile doesn’t fade until long after he shuts his door.

*****

“Where’s the damn pizza?” Corden muttered under his breath, looking at the clock on the wall of the choir room. 

“Want me to go call and check?” Louis asked from his perch on the teacher’s desk. Normally, that kind of behavior would have been frowned upon, but anything went on their two-show school performance day. Anyway, it was Ms. Teasdale’s desk, not Mr. Corden’s, so he didn’t seem all that invested.

“Nice try, Mr. Tomlinson.” Corden gave him an indulgent half-smile. “But you know the rules – you can only leave this room with a hall pass and  _ only  _ to go to the bathroom.”

It had been like that for as long as Louis had been here. Some strange school rule wouldn’t allow the company of the play to return to their classes between their morning performance for the visiting middle school and their afternoon performance for their high school classmates. But they were also not to go anywhere else, including the cafeteria. The green zone was the choir room, which had turned into a light  _ Lord of the Flies  _ situation, despite Corden’s presence. It did every year. The kids run hot on a cocktail of performance nerves and elation over the break from lectures, plus a dash of stir-craziness. Their director and drama teacher seemed to only be experiencing the latter.

Louis shrugged. “Just trying to help, sir.”

Just then, a loud  _ bang  _ made everyone in the room jump and turn. A second later, Ed’s red head popped up from where the student desk he’d been improperly sitting on flipped and clattered to the ground.

“I’m okay! I’m fine! I’m okay!” 

His announcement was met with applause and catcalls from the other students scattered around the classroom in small groups. As with 90% of their lock-in day shenanigans, Corden ignored it.

“Mr. Tomlinson.” When he spoke again, he was almost out the door, looking back at Louis.

“Sir?”

“You’re in charge.” Then he disappeared out into the hallway to find out the status of their lunch.

Louis rolled his eyes at the “oooooohs” that statement inspired, but he did a quick sweep of his domain anyway, just to prove that Corden was right to place his trust in him. Most of the rest of the cast were playing cards or just talking; some of the quieter crew members read novels, their headphones firmly placed over their ears.

Not Harry, though. When Louis' gaze fell on his new friend (or whatever he was), he was still at the same project he started as soon as he changed out of his costume and into a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt.

Louis approached him where he sat on the floor cross-legged, an open program in his lap and and a blue gel pen in his hand. He had his hair pulled back in a dark red scrunchie – no doubt purloined – and he was worrying his lower lip with his teeth in concentration. Louis could see that he’d already filled up the left margin of the page that contained his bio and gotten started on the right. He’d been at it for at least an hour. Every other cast member’s copy had gotten the same treatment.

And while it was a considerate thing to do – so considerate that it makes Louis a little goofy and lightheaded – he was also in desperate need of his new favorite thing about being in the school play: Harry’s attention.

Louis crouched down next to him. “Are you going to be done sometime today, Curly? Or should I start warming up your understudy?”

“Don’t have an understudy.” Harry glanced up, giving Louis a slight, sheepish smile. “None of us do.”

“True, true…” Louis tried to look like he was thinking. (Because he’s  _ trained,  _ he nailed it.) “Corden knows all your lines though.” He tilted his head so he could read what Harry had written. “He looks good in a headset too, we’ve all seen that.”

Harry laughed so softly Louis almost didn’t hear it in the din. But he did, if the swooping feeling in his stomach is anything to go by.

“I just have one more,” he said, gesturing to the final program laying on the floor to his right. It’s Louis' name that was written out in the top corner of the cover, above the artwork provided by the senior art seminar.

His dark side floated the possibility that Harry was saving his for last, but his practical side shut it down. Surely his was just on the bottom of the pile.

He’d been caught in that trap a lot lately – assigning too much meaning to something Harry did or said. For the first couple weeks of rehearsals, Louis told himself that he was enjoying the process more than usual because of his lead role, Corden’s evident belief in him, and, sure, the fact that he had a newbie to mentor, and a nice kid too. But around the fifth time his mother asked, with a sly look on her face, “And what are you so smiley about?” when he walked in through the mud room door, Louis really had no choice but to reexamine his feelings.

Maybe he had a tiny, insignificant,  _ baby  _ crush on Harry.

But  _ who wouldn’t,  _ in his defense? Despite the fact that Harry, even as a new student, had more social currency than the rest of them, he was kind to absolutely everyone, even the tech nerds Louis had seen other cast members fully ignore, as if they weren’t also an integral part of the show.

And the more Louis cautioned himself not to look, the more he saw: Harry stretching in the wings, his shirt riding ever so slightly up on his torso. Harry silently mouthing lines along as he watched scenes he wasn’t in. Harry kissing his mom on the cheek in full view of everyone when she stopped by with surprise cupcakes during tech week.

Most of all, Louis was taken by the way Harry was clearly there to take things in, not to show off. He had easily won over Jade and Jesy and the rest of the career theater kids too, which had to be no simple feat.

By far, his worst quality was that he distracted Louis from what he had planned to be his full and utter dedication to the show.

Harry liked Louis, this much he could tell. But in the same way Louis liked _ him? _

If Harry were a girl, there were ways. He could float a comment to his girlfriends, who’d do some reconnaissance and report back. He could bring him flowers for the final performance. He could invite Harry to arrive at the cast party  _ with  _ him, and know his heart by his answer. Louis had seen plenty of show couples emerge from these intense few months, but none of that would have helped him here, with another boy. A boy who could have been straight, for all Louis knew. 

His knees aching, Louis let himself fall backwards onto his behind, stretching his legs out in front of him. Harry signed his name to his essay in Perrie’s program, blew on the ink, then set it aside, still open. Next, he picked up Louis' and paged to the right spot.

“Am I allowed to be here for this, or is it a surprise?” Louis asked, just as an impressively harmonized and very  _ loud  _ rendition of “Seasons of Love” started up right behind him. Truly, lock-in days were chaos. The administration should have really rethought them.

“You’re going to read it anyway,” Harry said, his painfully green eyes finding Louis'. “It’s for you.”

So with Louis watching, a smile playing on his face, Harry put pen to paper.

_ Dear Lou,  _ it began,  _ my first real friend in Bedford. _


	4. Chapter 4

Louis can hear the hip-hop seeping out of the doors and windows when he approaches the rec center the night of their first dodgeball match. Contrary to evenings when the spot plays host to seniors dances and various support groups, the bass is cranked up to a near unreasonable level, and voices and laughter still carry over it. It seems that him, Niall, and the rest of their team aren’t the only adults looking for a little regression in their lives.

“Where in the hell are your shorts?”

Louis looks behind him to see Harry half-jogging over, his long legs barely covered by what appears to be a red, cotton postage stamp. The expression on his face is pricelessly offended, even though it’s by no means Louis' fault that Harry obviously bought and purchased a pair of shorts this tiny with his own money.

Cozy in his joggers, Louis isn’t the slightest bit sorry.

“I thought about it,” he says, charmed by Harry’s pout. “I’m just more comfortable in these. But I’m sure some of the other guys will be showing some leg.”

“The other–?” Harry laughs into the back of his hand. “Lou, I’m not  _ embarrassed. _ ” He curls his other one around the meat of the back of Louis' leg, not two inches from the bottom curve of his ass. “I’ve been thinking about those thick thighs all day. Thought I was gonna get to see them.”

Louis swallows deeply, his eyes falling closed. They’re about to enter a den of his sweaty, unathletic friends and neighbors, and he cannot have half a boner when that happens.

“Harry,” he says patiently, “if you’re really serious about taking things slow, you have  _ got  _ to stop saying shit like that.” 

Harry actually looks chastised, so Louis silently celebrates the victory and composes himself at the same time.

He pulls the door of the building open and motions for Harry, who’s still a little pink, to go in ahead of them. The muffled sounds turn into a cacophony, and Louis sees half the reason for it up on the center’s small stage. In addition to running the best and only used record store in town, their old classmate Nick has been the most popular local live DJ for going on 10 years now – constantly in demand for weddings, birthdays, bar mitzvahs, and apparently dodgeball tournaments. Leaning into one side of a pair of enormous headphones, Nick grins and raises a hand in greeting when he spots Louis and Harry.

They’re part of the first matchup, so Louis and Harry cut diagonally through the center of the court to meet Niall and the rest of the gang. Their self-appointed captain is already wearing his team shirt, neon orange, with “The 5 Ds” printed on the front in big, white block letters. He’s digging through an oversized grocery tote to hand out the rest.

Liam beat them there, of course. When Niall hands him his shirt, he reaches behind his neck and pulls his scrubs top right off, right there in the middle of the gym floor. Louis supposes he should be happy that the rippling abs and steely biceps on display belong to his team, but he’s far too petty for that. It’s a blessing when Liam gets the t-shirt over his head and covers the top of the v that disappears first into his HUGO waistband, then into his white basketball shorts, but he somehow manages to look even more physically perfect with clothes  _ on. _

His face creases up when Louis and Harry reach the group. Harry subtly pinches the skin of Louis’ lower back until Louis meets Liam’s outstretched fist.

“How’s it going, man?” Liam asks with a big smile, seemingly addressing both of them. “This is wicked, right?”

“Definitely beats gym with Walsh,” Harry agrees.

“Please don’t mention that man’s name in my presence.” Niall tosses a shirt to Harry and then to Louis, then gestures to the petite brunette woman at his side. “Harry, you know Maren? She’s our fifth D.”

Ignoring the innuendo, Harry shakes her hand, recognition in his eyes. “Year below us, right?”

“But in all our AP classes,” Louis says, squeezing her shoulder proudly. “How  _ did  _ you survive being smarter than most of our teachers?”

“Probably the same way your kids do, Tomlinson.” Then she turns her cheeky grin on the man next to him. “Harry. I hear you’ve done well for yourself.”

“Ehhh,” he wobbles his hand back and forth, enjoying her playfulness. “I’m no dodgeball champion or anything.”

“Not yet,” Niall says, poking him in the chest. “Now get your gear on and start stretching, or you never will be.” Then he heads off in the direction of the officials, strutting importantly all the way.

For someone who hates paperwork, Louis silently muses, he’s sure peacocking with that clipboard.

“Why can’t we talk about Mr. Walsh?” Maren asks when he’s out of earshot.

“Niall’s still sore he figured out that he was forging all his sick notes,” Louis explains. “But he was scraping the bottom of the barrel by senior year. I mean, ‘Please excuse Niall from gym class, we think he has Locomotor Mortis…’”

“Isn’t that the–?”

“Leg-locker curse.” Liam nods at Harry. “From  _ Sorcerer's Stone _ .”

Maren snorts loudly. “Classic.”

Retreating into the locker room to change seems too extreme, but Louis is determined to show a  _ little  _ more decorum than Liam, so he leads Harry around the side of the bleachers for some privacy. Still intent on keeping this event boner-free, he averts his eyes from Harry and the objectively excessive amount of tattoos on his upper body. But when he assumes it must be safe to look, his first thought is that Niall must have switched up their sizes.

His own shirt falls loosely around his waist, half covering his ass, the end of the sleeves closer to his elbows than his shoulders. Harry’s, meanwhile, only grazes the top of his little shorts, the cotton clinging to the planes of muscle on his chest, stomach, and back. He doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, however, already twisting his hair up into a bun and securing it with the elastic around his wrist, game face on.

He feels too ridiculous to suggest they switch, so Louis can’t do anything but search the room helplessly for Niall. Their captain catches his eye as he makes his way back to the team, his errand with the refs completed, juts his chin in Harry’s direction, then winks boldly at Louis. Leave it to his devoted best friend to wingman him with a guy he’s already slept with. 

Harry misses the whole display.

“Well, orange was never really my color,” he says, looking down at his torso, then glancing up at Louis through his lashes. “I do like the D though.”

“You talk like that in front of Spider-Man?” Louis accuses, to distract himself from the swirling in his stomach.

“You, of all people, should know how innocent teenagers  _ aren’t.”  _ Harry grabs Louis lightly around the tricep and leads him out to the main gym floor. “Anyway, that guy’s like 25 in real life. Swears like a sailor.”

“Shut up, please, you’re destroying the magic,” Louis chides. Inwardly, he’s a little relieved that he can continue crushing on Peter Parker, guilt-free.

Niall waits until they’ve circled up with the rest of The 5 Ds, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder in a half-assed huddle, to produce a whistle from underneath his t-shirt and blow fiercely into it. They all send their hands to their ears immediately, wincing at the sound.

“Jesus H.  _ Christ, _ Niall,” Louis whines. “That’s what you do to  _ get  _ people’s attention, you realize that? We’re all standing right here.”

“Sorry,” Niall shrugs. “Just excited.”

“That’s strike one,” Maren warns, glaring seriously at him. She’s added a stripe of grease paint under each eye, and the effect is rather intimidating. “Two more, and I take it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles contritely.

“ _ Okay.”  _ Liam claps his hands together, startling Louis yet again. “What’s the game plan?”

Harry pooches out his bottom lip and opens his palms. “Hit people. Don’t get hit?”

“Sounds good to me, superstar,” Louis affirms, throwing his hand into the middle of their circle. The rest of the team follows suit, save for Niall, who looks mildly hurt.

“Don’t you want a pep talk?”

“Maybe next time, pal,” Louis says gently, laying his other hand on Niall’s shoulder. Niall reluctantly drops his own palm into the circle, the very act seeming to cheer him up slightly.

“5 Ds on three,” he instructs, team spirit returning. “One...two…”

_ “5 Ds!!!” _

Nick cranks the music and the few spectators on the bleachers cheer and whistle as they break and both teams take their sides of the court. Louis had been so occupied with keeping himself in check – a constant battle around Harry – that he hadn’t even spared a look at their challengers yet. As he nears the center line, his eye darts from one player to the next, all in position: Stan, a.k.a. Officer Lucas, then Officers Rodgers, Mulholland, Green, and Michaels. Louis whirls around to his right at glares at Niall, who’s readjusting the sweatbands around his wrists, jaw set.

“Seriously?!”

Niall has the nerve to look bewildered.

“What?”

“We’re playing  _ your department?” _

“So?” He narrows his eyes at Louis, then stands up taller and bellows across the gym: “They got nothin’!”

Louis blows out a breath and shakes his head, giving up on getting an adult answer. Something in his neck cracks, so he does a few head rolls in either direction too, suddenly aware of what he signed up for months ago, after Niall called him, screaming bloody murder.

Only now he’s not so sure that Niall was being absolutely sincere in all his talk of team bonding, and how some extra cardio would do them good. No, it’s more likely that he found out his coworkers were signing up, didn’t want to be an alternate, and needed Louis and the rest of them to fulfill his dreams of wiping the floor with his Bedford PD colleagues and displaying that trophy right on the edge of his desk for all of them to see.

And now Louis is being stared down by five police academy graduates whose only directive is to nail him with a small projectile as quickly as possible.

He glances helplessly back at Harry behind him, who responds with a toothy grin and a double thumbs up. To Harry’s right, Liam has dropped to the floor to knock out a few pushups, and on the far side from Louis, Maren is sliding her sneakers back on the floor, one by one, like a bull preparing to charge. Louis swallows thickly, sensing that he’s way out of his depth on this one.

There’s no time to back out, however. The ref approaches, beckoning them all to huddle in for a moment.

“You get tagged, you’re out. Get out of bounds as quickly as possible. Cross the center line, you’re out. If you drop a ball while you’re using it to block, you’re out. Catch a ball thrown by the other team, one of your teammates can come back into play. We’re doing best two out of three. Let’s have a nice clean match tonight, alright?”

“You hear that, Jordan?” Niall sneers at his meaty, tattooed fellow cop. “This isn’t the daily crossword – you can’t cheat your way through this.”

“Google is  _ allowed,  _ Horan,” Green volleys back. 

“Uhhh,  _ is not _ ,” Niall counters.

“Just...cool it, buddy, okay?” Louis soothes, but it’s no use.

“Are they ready?” Niall asks the ref, his expression smoothing out deceptively. “Because we’re ready.”

“Yeah, man, let’s do this!” Liam cheers.

“I still miss the shorts,” Harry whispers in Louis' ear, his breath tickling his neck. “But you look cute as fuck tonight.”

“Let’s  _ goooooooooo,”  _ Maren wails in exasperation, bouncing around on her toes.

“On my whistle,” the ref says, backing up and lifting one of his hands. 

Niall makes an “I’m watching you” gesture to Green, who snorts derisively.

Louis memorizes the location of the ball lying a few feet in front of his, then sets his eyes on the ref. After an excruciating few seconds, he blows into the whistle, hard, sending both teams scrambling for the center line.

Somehow, Louis beats Lucas to the ball, palming it and retreating as quickly as he can, trying to stay aware of his surroundings. He needn’t have worried though, because there’s a period of tense stillness once the balls are claimed. They’re evenly distributed – three on each team – but no one rushes into action after that. Niall and Maren managed to snag one each. Louis follows their lead and shuffles carefully around their side, ready to duck out of the way should one of the cops decide to finally let one fly. 

Louis doesn’t see it – his eyes are trained on Michaels, who has the clearest shot of him – but Niall evidently sends his ball hurtling through space, tagging Rodgers right on the shin. Niall  _ woohoos _ loudly as Rodgers skulks off to the side, prompting an “attaboy” from Harry behind him.

All hell breaks loose after that. Green scoops up the ball that hit Rodgers and pitches it at Liam, who narrowly escapes. Michaels smartly goes to school on Green’s throw, targeting Liam while he’s still reeling from the last attempt. He gets hit in the shoulder and jogs to the sidelines.

“Mother _ fucker,”  _ Niall breathes.

Louis retaliates, grazing Michaels as she over-celebrates, knocking her knees together in a pretty good attempt at a touchdown dance. He barely hears Harry’s “nice one, babe,” but hear it, he does.

“In your face, Jules!” Niall cackles coldly. 

Lucas frowns and takes aim, but Niall dips to the side just in time, and the ball bounces harmlessly off the floor without finding a player.

Mulholland isn’t quite as quick on his feet, however. Maren takes him out handily, his bob and weave a failure.

Harry takes a few loping steps forward then throws a line drive at Lucas. It has the whistle of a dead-on hit, but Lucas catches it, sending Harry out of the game and Rodgers back into it.

His reentry gives the other team their second wind. With a few seconds, Green beams Maren on the shoulder; Louis loses his grip on the ball he was using to block hits, and then it’s just Niall left on their side of the court, facing down three opponents with the kind of ballsy defiance Louis has come to only expect from his best friend. He has a ball in each hand and his chin is high as he rains down the trash talk.

“You think you can hit me, Cal? You think you can hit  _ me?  _ I’ve been to the gun range with you, pal. You know, the force really appreciates it. Saves them money, seeing as they can reuse all your targets.” He chuckles, shifting his weight again, manic glee sparkling in his eyes. “You couldn’t hit me if I were close enough to kiss you. You couldn’t hit me if I were three feet wide  _ and standing still _ . And Jordan, who the hell do you–”

That’s when it happens. A ball, which they’ll later discover was thrown by Lucas, nails Niall right in the face at high speed, cutting him off mid-sentence. He meets the ground like a felled tree, and Louis can tell he’s already unconscious on the way down by the way he doesn’t even try to break his own fall. 

Gasps ring out on the sidelines and Nick pauses the music, plunging the room into stunned quiet.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis whispers, running to Niall’s side. “Oh my god, you stupid, stupid moron.” He’s about to drop to the ground to see what he can do, wincing at the shiner that’s already starting to form around Niall’s right eye, but another voice stops him.

“Step aside, please,” someone calls from near the front door. “Step aside, paramedics.”

Louis looks up, confused, to see a tall, strapping brunnette in an EMT uniform rushing towards them, a black medical bag slung over his shoulder.

“That was fast,” Louis murmurs as he gets out of the man’s way, still shaken. He feels Harry’s comforting hand on his lower back and turns towards him. “Somebody called 911?” Harry shakes his head, brow furrowed.

“No,” the man says, gently shifting Niall from his side to his back. “We’ve got next. I just came from my shift. Lucky I did, too.”

“Oh,” Louis says softly. Intellectually, he knows Niall will be fine, but it’s more than a little scary to see his loudmouth friend so silent and immobile.

“Has he ever had any head injuries?” the man asks, taking a penlight from his pocket. He lifts Niall’s eyelids one by one and peers into them. 

Without Barbara there, Louis realizes it’s up to him to answer.

“Um, no. Not that I know of.”

“That’s good. That’s very good.” The man puts his thumb and forefinger around Niall’s limp wrist, pushes his sweatband up his forearm, and watches his own watch for a few seconds. Seemingly satisfied, he returns Niall’s hand to the gym floor, then puts his own on either side of Niall’s neck, his fingers curling lightly along his jaw.

“His name’s Niall, right?” The man glances up at Louis, and though he doesn’t remember seeing him around, there’s something familiar about his open face and honey brown eyes. Niall’s never mentioned an EMT friend, but chances are, they’ve run into each other in the line of their respective duties.

“Yeah. Yes.”

Lucas hesitantly steps forward and stands next to Louis, wringing his hands. “Shit, is he gonna be okay?”

Before the EMT can answer, Niall groans, brokenly.

“Heyyy, you’re back,” the man says, with a small, relieved smile. He keeps his hands where they are as Niall’s eyes flutter open, to discourage him from moving too quickly.

Niall moans again, kicking his legs out long on the gym floor. Louis can only breathe properly again when Niall’s eyes clearly start to focus. He blinks a few times, peering up at the man leaning over him.

“Wh–who are you?” Louis tenses up underneath the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand. How’s he going to explain to Niall’s parents that he got amnesia at a stupid  _ dodgeball game? _

The man with him doesn’t seem concerned that Niall doesn’t recognize him, however.

“My name’s Shawn. I’m an EMT, and I’m here to make sure you’re alright. You took a pretty big hit there, Niall.”

“I did?” Niall’s brow contracts and he continues staring at Shawn like he has all the answers in the world.

“Yep. And it knocked you out for a minute, so I’m just going to check you for a concussion okay?”

Niall manages a sneer that he tries to direct toward the other team. “Those rat  _ bastards.”  _

“Niall, look here.” Shawn gets his attention back and raises his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” Niall answers easily.

“Good. And now?”

“Two. And I got a finger for you, Lucas. I know it was you.”

Shawn ignores the outburst. In fact, he seems to consider it progress. “What day is it today?”

“Wednesday.”

“And the year?”

“2019.”

“Very good, Niall. You’re doing great.”

The silence around them was broken by respectfully quiet conversations after Niall came to. But his teammates and their opponents stay close and almost mute, watching Shawn assess his injuries.

“Now, I’m going to have you sit up, nice and slow,” the EMT says, offering Niall his hand. Using one to pull him up, Shawn braces his back with the other.

“You good there?” 

Niall nods obediently.

“Beautiful. Now, just track my finger, okay?”

Releasing Niall’s hand, Shawn holds his up and raises his index finger, moving it from side to side and watching Niall’s eyes follow it.

“How’re you feeling now? Does anything hurt? Are you dizzy?”

“Um, there’s like, like, kind of a dull pain, all around this area.” Niall gestures to his entire head, and Louis suppresses a dark laugh.

Shawn doesn’t suppress his grin, however.

He is seriously cute, Louis determines. It’s a shame Niall can’t fully appreciate the unlimited fantasy possibilities of being rescued by a handsome medical professional with hands like that. 

“I have something that’ll help with the headache. Do you think you can walk?”

“But it’s comfy down here,” Niall mumbles, petulant.

“I know, but you’re kind of cutting into our time here,” Shawn tries, with humor in his voice. “Tell you what. If you get up and go sit in that chair over there...I’ll give you the drugs.”

“Okay,” Niall nods seriously. “I’ll do it. For the drugs, though. Not for you.”

Shawn fully chuckles this time. “Noted.”

He wraps his arm around Niall’s back and takes his hand again, coming up to a crouching position. Niall gets his feet under him, and Shawn counts them down: “One...two...three.” 

With Shawn supporting some of his weight, Niall stumbles up to standing. Liam gets behind the folding chair Shawn had indicated and holds firmly to the back, so Niall can safely take a seat without knocking it over. He doesn’t need much help walking, but Shawn stays at his side, just in case he loses his balance. Niall presses the heel of his palm into his forehead and grimaces as his eases into the chair, murmuring a “thanks, man,” to the EMT.

“No problem,” Shawn answers back, all sincerity. He retrieves his bag from where he’d dropped it onto the gym floor earlier and digs around in it until he finds a small, white bottle. He shakes two capsules into his hand and offers them to Niall. Maren hands him her water bottle, and Niall quickly downs the pills, washing them down with a swig of liquid.

Shawn kneels on the floor in front of him, so he can look Niall right in the face.

“The throbbing should go down, once those kick in,” he explains. “You don’t have a concussion – if you do, it’s extremely minor.”

“Should we take him to the emergency room?” Louis hears his own panicked voice jump up an octave.

“Only if you want to wait for two hours and get hit with a huge bill next week,” Shawn says. “Trust me, I would tell you if you needed to, but there’s nothing else they can do or  _ will  _ do except telling you what I’m about to tell you now.”

He turns back to Niall and raises his eyebrows in the same no-nonsense way Louis does when he’s anticipating some pushback from his kids.

“Concussion or not, you got hit in the head, and you still need to let your brain recover. So you need to take it easy. No more strenuous activity tonight. No reading or video games. And no alcohol, you got it? Not even one drink.”

Niall doesn’t have the will to fight him on that point, though Louis can see that he wants to try.

“How’d you get here? Because you also shouldn’t be driving for another 24 hours.”

“Drove. Car’s here.”

“You’ll need a ride then. Shouldn’t be a problem to leave your car overnight.” Shawn runs his hand through his hair, pushing back the errant curl that’d been falling into his face. “I’d take you, but, uh, I think my teammates would kill me if I forfeited our game.”

“Someone’s got to finish a match tonight,” Niall smiles sheepishly. “Thank you, though. For all of this.”

Shawn looks pleased, like advising an adult who was practically begging for someone to throw a ball at his head is why he pursued this career in the first place. “Just doing my job. But…” He reaches into his bag again, producing a small pad and a pen. He scribbles something down, then tears off the sheet and gives it to Niall.

“If you don’t feel better by tomorrow or if you have any questions, give me a call.”

Niall nods, his expression unreadable. Shawn pats his knee once, then rises back up to standing.

Louis is right there, with his palm outstretched. “Seriously, thank you.” Shawn shakes it. “You seem really familiar, but I don’t know that we’ve met.”

“Bedford High,” Shawn says, putting his hands on his slim hips. “I think I was a freshman when you guys were seniors. Mendes is my last name. My mom worked in the office for a while?”

Louis snaps his fingers. “ _ Yes,  _ Mrs. Mendes! She was the nicest one by a long shot. We miss her over there.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Niall watching their conversation with badly disguised interest. “I seem to remember you being a lot...well, shorter.”

Shawn laughs, not even a little bit offended. “Yeah, well. I was.”

“Ohhhhhh, I remember you!” Maren lights up. “You were the only freshman in the talent show that year, right?”

“Oh god, please don’t remind me,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

“What? You were so cute!” Maren coos. “That guitar was as big as you were.”

“Trust me, I remember. My mom makes me watch their video of it at least once a year.”

“That’s  _ so sweet.”  _ Maren steps a bit closer, eyes roaming up and down his form. “So where have you been? Because I know I haven’t seen you. I’m really good with faces. I wouldn’t forget one like that.”

Shawn takes a polite, discreet half step backwards, which Louis finds interesting.

“Um, I went to BU, and then just stayed in the city for a while. This job opened up and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to come home. I’ve only been back for a few weeks.”

“Shawn!” a voice calls from the other side of the gym. “Dude, let’s GO!”

“Shit. I’ve gotta go get changed,” he mutters. “You guys have a great night. Niall, take care, alright?”

Niall raises the folded sheet of paper in a silent salute, and then Shawn’s gone, bounding off to the locker room. 

Niall’s quieter than usual after that, acquiescing quickly to the new plan of Maren, who hadn’t been planning on staying at the bar long anyway, taking Niall home after their truncated game and Louis taking him to pick up his car the following night. Louis offers to come home and stay with him until morning, but Niall waves him off.

“Have a drink for me, Tommo. You heard the man. I’ll be fine.”

Louis tries not to dwell on it later when he’s carefully carrying three full beers over to their table at Sal’s. Considering their match was cut extremely short, the remains of their team and the cops are the only dodgeball crowd there so far, and it was easy to find a spot.

Already protective of Harry’s night and privacy, Louis is overwhelmed by the burden of worrying about Niall too. He resists the urge to text, heeding Shawn’s warning about screen time. He’s not much in the mood to drink, but he knows that Niall would feel worse if everyone bailed because of him, so he soldiers on. 

“Gentlemen,” he declares when he arrives back at the table. Harry and Liam take a beer each. Once Louis' hands are free, he looks around the room for anyone suspicious, narrowing his eyes at a woman who has her phone aimed in their direction.

“Lou,” Harry placates. “It’s harmless, don’t worry about it.”

Louis drops into his seat with a forceful exhale. 

“How do you deal with it? I don’t think I could.”

“I know it’s hard to imagine, but really, you get used to it. And more importantly, they’ll get used to  _ me.  _ It’ll die down. I’ll be old news in like a week. Cheers.”

He raises his pint glass, compelling Liam and Louis to do to the same. They all drink.

“So that EMT was hot,” Harry says matter-of-factly, a moment later.

“ _ So  _ hot,” Louis concurs emphatically, harmonizing with Liam’s groan. 

“You should ask him out,” Louis says to Liam, already warming to the guy after their shared crisis. “How long has it been since you and Ted…?”

“Almost a year,” Liam says, with no edge of hurt in his voice. “But I’m not really looking for anything serious right now. And that guy is 100% certified husband material.”

Harry makes a little noise of agreement.

“Anyway, he seemed pretty into Niall, didn’t he?”

Louis huffs a laugh into his beer. “Barking up the wrong tree there.”

Harry and Liam exchange a look that makes him feel left out, like he completely missed something.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Louis,” Harry says slowly. “I think he was enjoying the attention.”

Louis snorts, unattractively. “Niall? Enjoying attention? I’ll alert the media.”

“He did take his number,” Liam shrugs.

“Yeah, because of the  _ head injury,”  _ Louis stresses. Who do these two think they are?  _ He’s  _ the gay best friend. Surely he’d know if Niall were even curious about dudes. They talk about everything.

“It wouldn’t mean he’s been hiding anything from you,” says Harry, who apparently reads minds now. “Most of us are a lot more fluid than we think.”

“Thank you, Dr. Kinsey,” Louis mutters, then takes a sip of his beer. It’s not that it would bother him if Niall dated a guy, but he still thinks Harry and Liam are reading too much into it. Of  _ course  _ Niall was acting weird; he literally lost consciousness right in front of them.

“Fine, we can talk about something else,” Harry says casually. “Like what in the sweet hell is Niall’s beef with his coworkers?”

Liam and Louis chuckle, sharing a look. Niall’s personal struggle is well known to almost everyone in town.

“He hates cops,” Louis states.

A wrinkle of confusion forms between Harry’s eyebrows. “But he  _ is  _ a cop.”

“Right. He feels like it’s his duty to be a good one.”

“I don’t–”

“It’s a whole thing, trust me,” Louis interrupts. “Good you asked us instead of him or you’d have never heard the end of it. Basically, he thinks that the system is corrupt and broken and a lot of people go into the field because they want to get a gun and wear a uniform and have power over other people and all that.”

“Which is true,” Liam adds.

“Of course it’s true,” Louis goes on. “Niall doesn’t get off on any of those things, so he figured he was the perfect candidate.”

“Taking one for the team.”

Louis points at Harry. “Exactly. Fortunately, everyone in his department is relatively non-fascist. They mostly get along too, no matter how much he complains about them. He just took it too far tonight.”

“What a weird, fascinating little guy,” Harry muses, dragging his finger around the rim of his pint glass.

“I thought you said he was ‘a babe,’” Louis teases.

“The duality of man,” Harry says solemnly.

*****

There’s only one thing that Louis would drag himself out of his air-conditioned house to do on a 94-degree day. That it involved four little sisters tagging along didn’t make it any less attractive.

Before his mom left for work, she helped him load up two extra-large tote bags with towels, sunscreen, goggles, and swimmies and dress the two littlest ones in their skirted, one-piece swimsuits. They all purposely went light on breakfast, anticipating a snack bar lunch of chicken fingers, curly fries, and blue raspberry slushies that would stain their mouths until they brushed their teeth at night.

The local pool was already filling up when they arrived a little after ten am. Lottie and Fizzy were old enough to help Louis claim swim chairs and organize their space. Daisy and Phoebe tried to make a break for the water as soon as their cover-ups were off, but Louis pulled them gently back to apply their sunscreen. Their little bodies squirmed and twisted, and they scrunched their faces in displeasure when he smoothed the cream over their cheeks and foreheads.

“Alright, alright, you animals,” he announced when they’ve been totally covered with SPF50. “You’re done.”

The girls padded over to the shallow end of the pool, which Louis could see clearly from his vantage point. All of them were put into lessons early, so he knew they were safe, especially with his older two sisters there to supervise. Still, he was responsible for all of them, so he wouldn’t let his attention wander far.

Louis pulled the new  _ Entertainment Weekly  _ out of one of the bags and dropped it on his chair, then stripped off his t-shirt. When he looked toward the shallow end again, a tall, lanky lifeguard was about to climb up onto his post, but seemed to be chatting to Louis' sisters as he lingered on the first step.

All hopes of relaxation disappeared when Daisy and Phoebe doggy paddled up to the edge of the pool to tell Harry something, his resulting wide smile piercing Louis right in the gut.

He blamed himself that their school-year friendship didn’t extend to summer vacation. Without school and without a play, the only way Louis could see Harry would have been to actually suggest they get together, and that was something he had no idea how to do. He could spend an hour on the phone with Niall, only hanging up when Lottie complained to their mom that he was hogging the line. He could show up to Niall’s house unannounced and secure his time for the rest of the day. But asking Harry to do something felt monumental and scary, and Louis was a coward.

Heart stuttering, Louis started to put sunscreen on himself and tried not to think about or stare at Harry, all golden brown and healthy-looking and dressed only in a pair of red swim trunks.

He dared to lift his eyes for a moment when he finished his legs, spotting Harry’s head close to Daisy, who was pointing back at him. She waved excitedly when she saw Louis looking. The corner of Harry’s mouth curved up and he waved at Louis too.

_ Shit. _

He had to go over there. Not only were the girls now waving him down, but he had also forgotten that there was no one left to do his back. 

Louis could sing and dance and make a fool out of himself in front of theaters full of people without a bit of stagefright, but his nerves frayed rapidly in the course of his slow march to the other side of the pool.

Harry was leaning back on the ladder of the lifeguard stand when he approached, one heel resting on the first rung. The auditorium was Louis' element, and this was his.

“Louis, you didn’t tell me your sisters were  _ star swimmers.” _

Daisy and Phoebe giggled shamelessly, depressingly better at flirting with Harry than Louis was.

_ You didn’t tell me that this would get worse _ , Louis thought.  _ You didn’t tell me I could be this scared. _

“Please don’t feed the egos, Curly,” he snarked instead. “They’re also holy terrors.”

He was extremely aware of his state of undress, even though his trunks fell to his knees. His skin prickled under Harry’s easy gaze, in spite of the heat.

“These well-behaved young ladies? I don’t think so,” Harry played straight to the girls, who ate up every bit of it. “These ladies, who know rule number one by heart – you know rule number one, don’t you?

“Yes!!” Daisy and Phoebe cried in unison.

“Okay, what’s rule number one?”

“NO RUNNING AT THE POOL.”

Harry threw his arms out dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut with pride. “Perfect. A+. Gold stars all around.”

Lottie flicked her eyes up to Louis, who tried not to react. Something passed between them though, and she beckoned Daisy and Phoebe out towards the center of the pool to watch her and Fizzy do handstands, the twins’ favorite trick.

“They’re so cute,” Harry said, watching them drift away. Lottie is 15 – hypothetically dateable. Louis prayed he was only talking about the little ones.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he said abruptly.

“Yeah, you know. Swim team and all,” Harry said, quieter now that the little ones are gone. “They basically recruited us.”

“Cool.”

“What about you? How’s your summer going?”

Louis attempted to measure his response, something he ws quickly growing tired of doing. If he underplayed it, Harry would think he didn’t want to be friends at all, that they were just in the play together and were mere acquaintances. But if he swung too far in the other direction, the consequences could be even worse.

“Pretty good, yeah. Just been busy helping mom out with the kids and mowing lawns on the weekends.”

“No summer job?”

“No.” Louis tilted his head towards the pool. “They’re enough work as it is. So I’m kind of like–”

“The nanny?” Harry grinned, but it’s not mocking. Louis imagined that he could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, even at his distance.

He laughed, looking up into the sun, chasing the spots it puts in front of his eyes. Everything was too hot and too bright and too much – exactly how he liked his summers.

“Yep, the nanny. That’s me.”

“Oh, did you need…?” Harry looked down at Louis' right hand, and Louis followed his gaze. He’d forgotten he’d brought the sunscreen over.

“Oh, no,” Louis stumbled, heart leaping into his throat. “That’s okay, you don’t...Lots? Lottie?” He called out into the water and held up the bottle.

“My hands are wet!” she shouted at him, then dove back under the water, kicking her feet out and up in a perfectly straight line.

“Louis, give it to me.” Harry smiled and presented his palm. It was the first time Louis had ever heard him be even slightly authoritative and it only served to make the whole situation worse. Better.

“Please, I’m a professional.”

Definitely, infinitely worse.

The only other options were to pack up the girls and leave immediately or to spend the rest of the day sweating into his Green Day t-shirt, so Louis reluctantly handed over the sunscreen and turned his back on Harry. 

He heard the snick of the bottle opening, then the wet sound of Harry rubbing his hands together. Louis sucked in a breath as inconspicuously as he could and thought of his neighbor Mrs. Cline’s hairless cat, Niall’s dirty gym socks, the “I love you, you love me” song from Barney – all things inherently unsexy, to counter the whisper of Harry’s breath on the top of his spine and his large hands smoothing sunscreen across Louis' shoulders.

The job he did was both efficient and thorough. (He was a professional, after all.) Harry prompted Louis to lift both arms so he could get his sides and traveled all the way down to the small of Louis' back, right to the barrier of his waistband. He didn’t linger anywhere or do any of the things Louis was trying so hard not to think about wanting, but it was enough to ruin Louis for the rest of the summer, or maybe for life. 

“All good,” Harry said after a minute or so, and Louis might have been imagining it, but his voice sounded even deeper than it did on the last day of school.

Louis turned, and he was close enough to see the sun glint off the amber notes in Harry’s otherwise green eyes. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You should maybe, um, go a little bit lower on your back,” Harry mumbled awkwardly. “Under your suit. Sometimes your shorts move and then you get that sunburn stripe. It really hurts. But that’s all you, obviously.”

If Louis didn’t know any better, he might have thought Harry was flustered. But even if he were, that wouldn’t mean anything. It was a weirdly intimate thing to do to anyone, no matter the circumstances.

“That’s a good tip.”

“Right.” Harry seemed comforted by the response. “Anyway, I should get up there. But I don’t know, maybe if you guys are still here during my break we can eat lunch? I’ve got a 15% employee discount. It’s pretty sweet.”

Louis was caught between being even more endeared to Harry for wanting to do something nice for his family and futilely wondering if Harry would have suggested lunch if Louis were here all alone. Either way, the answer was inevitable.

“Well, I know the girls just met you, but they would really love that.”

Harry beamed.

“Seriously, you’re about to have two pint-sized stalkers on your hands,” Louis warned. “Clingy ones.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry said softly.

“Okay then.” Louis absent-mindedly toyed with the cap of the sunscreen, a smile tugging at his lips. “We’ll be here.”


	5. Chapter 5

“It doesn’t look so bad.”

Niall takes his hand away from his forehead, letting his hair – brushed forward instead of off of his face today – fall back into his eyes, one of which is still faintly ringed red and purple after the incident on the court.

“Seriously!” Louis insists, challenging Niall’s frown. “You can barely see it.”

“You’re just being nice,” he grumbles, woefully sipping the iced coffee Louis brought him.

“Since when am I nice? Okay, you want the truth? On Thursday, you looked like barely warmed shit. I didn’t want to tell you that then, but it’s true. Now you look...kind of cool, honestly. It’s badass. Anyway, remember what that guy said: It could have been a lot worse.”

Niall seems to accept this, so Louis opens up a new line of questioning. It’s a bit of a tradition for him to walk Niall’s Saturday morning rounds with him, but in this case, he does have an agenda of sorts.

“Talking to Stan again yet?”

“I told Julia to tell him that I’m waiting on a formal apology.” Niall nods authoritatively at two elderly women passing by. “A fruit basket would be nice.”

“Dude,” Louis sighs. “You baited him. You know you did.”

Niall’s tetchiness was never easily overcome, but what Louis absolutely didn’t need was a repeat of their dramatic dodgeball debut the next time the teams faced each other.

“Accidents happen, don’t they? He probably wasn’t even aiming for your face. It’s your turn to be the grownup, Niall.”

“We gotta come back strong this week.” Niall looks off into the street, ignoring Louis' last point. “We’ve been labelled as the fuckups, but good, you know? That’s actually good, because now we have the element of surprise. We’re underestimated. All the great ones were underestimated.”

“The great what? Adult dodgeball teams?” Louis grins sideways at him, amused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know, Lewis – sometimes I wonder if you’re taking this seriously.”

“I’m  _ extremely  _ committed to Sparkle Motion, okay, Kitty? It’s not my number one priority, but it’s solidly in the top – I don’t know, ten?”

Anton, who runs the hardware store, waves at them from where he’s leaning in his doorway. Niall gives him a smile and a wave back.

“Styles still won’t take you to Bonetown, huh?” he asks after they pass, far too loudly for Louis' liking.

“Can you  _ keep your voice down?”  _ Louis hisses. “Bonetown? Are you a child?”

They round the corner that leads down to Barbara’s boutique and a few other clothing and gift stores, and Louis hopes he won’t have to have an awkward conversation the next time he stops by Anton’s for mulch for his landscaping.

But no, Harry won’t, is the grievous reality of the situation. 

“So that’s a no,” Niall states plainly. “Not even after the bar the other night?”

“We shared an Uber and I thought maybe...but then I realized he’d put in his own address first. He gave me this big, sloppy kiss on the cheek before he got out of the car, and that was it.” Louis picks at some dry skin on his thumb, absolutely loathing his current state of vulnerability. 

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing. Just ‘good night.’”

“‘Good night.’ That’s it?”

“Well, yeah, and...” Louis finds the next window display they pass  _ fascinating.  _ “There was some texting. Later.”

“Oh ho ho, see? You’ve been holding out on me,” Niall shoves his shoulder, his toothy smile suddenly salacious. “I assume this texting was of a sexual nature?”

Shortly after he’d arrived home the other night, Louis had received a paragraph that went into great detail regarding his dick – all of Harry’s favorite features and functions. Not only had it left him short-winded and flushed, it also gave Louis new appreciation for Harry’s nearly photographic memory. He almost called, desperate for Harry to at least talk him to the release he was craving. But Harry’s current living situation wasn’t exactly conducive to late-night phone sex. Besides, Louis had no idea whether that broke any of Harry’s current rules.

“Sexting is what you do when you can’t see each other,” Louis complains to Niall, dwelling on his own vivid memory of frantically stroking said cock to those few texts until he found relief. “He’s right here. We know we’re attracted to each other. We know we’re good together.”

“I think it’s romantic,” Niall declares.

“Romantic.”

“Yeah, honest. Remember when Barbara and me were engaged? We decided to be celibate for two weeks before the wedding to make that night special, and it worked. Made everything feel new again and really meaningful. It’s not a terrible idea.”

“You’re divorced.”

“Yes, I’m  _ acutely  _ aware of that, thank you,” Niall says sarcastically. “And it didn’t have anything to do with our sex life, as you well fucking know. What I’m saying is, it’s sweet. Harry wants it to be special between you two too. Isn’t that what he told you?”

Louis had given Niall the Cliffs Notes of that conversation, mostly to monitor his reaction to Harry’s proposal. Niall hadn’t even flinched, which was almost enough for Louis at the time.

“Yeah? Sort of? He said he wants to make up for lost time. He wants to  _ date  _ me, whatever that means anymore. And it  _ is  _ nice that he’s not only interested in sex. I don’t want to be, like...someone you call when you’re lonely or whatever...”

“A booty call, you can say the words.”

“Fine. I don’t want to be a booty call. And it’s not that I can’t wait. But sometimes it feels like I’m just something he’s just, I don’t know, trying on.”

Niall pauses at the corner, obeying the “Don’t Walk” sign. “I don’t understand,” he says, fully facing Louis.

“Harry feels like there are things he missed out on – normal, real life things,” Louis explains. “And I can see where he’s coming from. But I don’t like feeling like I’m something he’s just checking off of a list. Like I’m some rite of passage, or whatever. ‘Get a frozen custard at Hendricks’, take out Louis.’ So what if he’s trying to leave sex out of the equation this time because he doesn’t want me getting too attached? On one hand, I get it – fuck, I almost appreciate it. But on the other, I wish, if this were just a fling, he’d just put me out of my misery.”

“He doesn’t seem like a fling guy to me, Tommo.” Niall gives him that look he hates – the one where he knows he’s saying something Louis doesn’t want to hear. “You guys had sex, and he moved here three weeks later. He  _ literally  _ moved. He upended his entire life, and at least part of it was because of you. I know it’s scary to be on your end of that, but at least he’s trying to explain himself to you. You just have to decide if you’re going to take him at his word. Can I see the sext?”

“Excuse me? No.”

“Will you at least tell me what he said?”

_ “No.”  _ The light turns, and Louis shoves Niall out into the crosswalk.

“Fine. But hey: the physical stuff, it’s not just about what he wants,” Niall continues, momentum unbroken. “If you need something more from him, you’re allowed to ask for it.”

He is. He can. But what’s the point if Harry will have disappeared from his life again before the next school year starts up? What’s the point in fighting for something bigger if Louis couldn’t even make a relationship work with a guy who lives one 30-minute train ride away?

A piercing siren interrupts his thoughts. As the ambulance speeds by, its rotating lights activated, Niall stands a little taller and watches it trundle out of sight.

“Something you should be worried about?” Louis asks, his head full of ridiculous ideas about Niall and EMTs, thanks to Harry and Liam.

“They’ll tell me on radio if it is, I suppose.”

Louis adopts his most casual tone. “So did you ever text that guy?”

“Which guy?”

“That nice one from the dodgeball game. Saved you an emergency room bill?”

“Oh, right. Shawn. Uh, yeah. I let him know how I was doing.”

Niall’s answer is suspiciously succinct for someone who thinks he ought to have unfettered access to his best friend’s explicit texts. Louis considers mentioning it, how the other guys had intimated that Shawn was interested in Niall. But for some reason, he doesn’t want to insert himself into the situation. The moment is foreign and fragile, and he was being an ass before. Who cares what Niall’s life has been up to now? That doesn’t dictate who he’ll be in the future – possibly who he’s always been. If Louis can be here, almost 40, and still navigating boy problems, who’s to say that Niall can’t too?

But he still can’t resist making a suggestion.

“We probably owe him a thank you drink,” Louis tosses off. “If he’s down to hang out sometime.”

“Hm, maybe.” Niall checks his watch and makes a face. “I should get back to the station. Let me know how it goes with Cap, will ya? And stop acting like you’re a second-class citizen in this relationship.”

*****

Louis has just gotten settled on his couch with the late breakfast he picked up after Niall left him when Harry calls. 

“Hello?”

“Lou, hi.” Harry’s voice is soft, but he sounds like someone who’s trying very hard not to sound stressed. “Am I interrupting something? Are you busy?”

Louis ceases futzing with the foil around his bagel, sensing that something vaguely serious is going on. 

“No, just a lazy Saturday over here. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Scout–” Harry cuts off for a moment, and Louis can hear him speaking to someone in the room with him. This was the weekend Gemma and the kids were meant to be arriving, so it must be a full house.

“Sorry,” Harry comes back onto the line. “Scout hasn’t been eating much, and I’m getting worried. Liam said I can bring him in today, but it’s a little crazy here. I hate to ask, but I could really use the company, and Gemma can’t leave both kids with my mom. They’ll run her into the ground.”

Louis hasn’t met Scout yet, but Harry’s powerful love for his dog is public knowledge. As adorable as he is, Scout wouldn’t be an Instagram star without his famous dad and the tight relationship they share.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Harry heaves a sigh of relief that tugs at Louis' heart. “Thank you. Are you totally, absolutely sure that you don’t mind?”

“I’m putting on my shoes right now, superstar. Just get him ready to go.”

After he hangs up, Louis takes a couple of messy bites of his bagel as he collects his wallet and keys, then tosses what’s left into the refrigerator. He makes some room in the backseat of his car too, tossing a tennis racket and a few jackets into the trunk.

He doesn’t have to look up the route to Harry’s mom’s house; it’s almost identical to the drive he’d make every day after musical practice senior year, dropping Harry off to her right as the sky turned pink and orange. There’s an SUV in the driveway behind the one-car garage, so Louis parks on the street in front of the house. Harry is already out the door before Louis can exit the car, his normally exuberant dog trudging lethargically behind him.

Louis hops out of the driver’s seat and circles around to the passenger side.

“Hey,” Harry says, apologetic. “Everyone wanted to say hi, but–”

“You just want to get him there. It’s okay, Harry.” Harry nods thankfully, lips pressed together in a line. Louis drops to a squat to greet Scout.

“Hi, buddy,” he says gently, highly conscious that he’s meeting Harry’s heart outside of his body. “Not feeling so hot, huh?” Scout doesn’t jump up or rush forward, but he snuffles into Louis' open palm, and Louis feels a pang, because he’s trying. He looks up at Harry. “Do you want him in the back or in the front with you?”

“He’ll probably feel more secure if I hold him,” Harry says. 

“Fair enough.” He rises to standing and wraps his hand around Harry’s forearm in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “Let’s go then.”

Louis opens the passenger side door for Harry, who bends down to pick Scout up by his middle. He backs into the seat, bringing the dog with him. Once all their appendages are clear, Louis throws the door shut and hustles back to the driver’s side. 

“All good?” he asks, starting the car again. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, delicately arranging Scout’s ears. “We’re good.”

They drive in near silence for a minute or so, Harry murmuring soothing nonsense to his dog, who’s splayed across his lap.

He’d wanted one forever – or at least he did when they were kids. But with his mom working and him at school, it just wasn’t feasible. 

“I know it’s weird,” Harry says, speaking louder to include Louis in the conversation, “but he really is my best friend. I don’t mean that how people usually mean it when they say it about their dogs. Every few months I live somewhere different, have different people around me. The only constant is Scout. Sometimes he’s the only familiar face I see all day.”

Louis glances over to see Harry watching Scout sleep. 

“Could do a lot worse for a best friend,” he offers.

Harry huffs a laugh. “Believe me, I have. No, I’m not complaining. Scout’s the best. Just...that’s why…”

He trails off. Louis reaches over and squeezes Harry’s hand where it’s resting lightly on Scout’s smooth, soft head.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Harry flips his hand over and squeezes back, meeting Louis' eyes. 

“I know. I usually don’t. Not with other people. But it’s important to me that you understand.”

They pull into the parking lot of the small office park where Liam’s veterinary practice is, and Louis is more touched than he should be when Scout allows him to take him out of Harry’s arms. He’s a pleasant, heavy weight – awake, but still docile – and Louis hopes he has the opportunity to hold him again under different circumstances. Harry opens the clinic door for them, then heads straight for the check-in desk. 

“Mr. Styles,” a young woman in cat-print scrubs says, before Harry can speak. “You can bring Scout right back. Dr. Payne is waiting for you.” 

She leads them down a short hallway and into a well-lit exam room, where Liam stands – waiting as promised and looking over a chart.

“Harry, hi.” His voice is steady, and Louis appreciates his professionalism. Liam drops the chart onto a small desk and starts to pull on a pair of gloves. “Louis, hello. You can just put Scout on the exam table there. You can give the sample to Carol; she’ll get it tested.”

Louis does as he’s told, with Harry reaching out to help support the dog’s haunches once he’s handed a small plastic bag over to the tech. Scout looks pleadingly up at him with wet eyes, but doesn’t struggle once he’s on the table. Instead, he leans his weight into Harry and Louis for comfort, angling his body away from Liam and the unknown.

Louis' heart liquifies when Scout turns into him, his small, black nose brushing against Louis' jeans. They’ve only just met, but he’d do anything for this dog. He tries to communicate this – and that everything is going to be okay – to Harry with a close-lipped smile.

“Okay, my friend, let’s see what’s going on here,” Liam says directly to the dog, a nod to Harry and Louis indicating that they should stop stroking Scout for now. 

He’s shaky but yielding as Liam’s expert hands roam over him, carding through his fur and squeezing specific spots on his belly. Still, every time Liam seems like he’s finished, the dog tries to scoot back to the opposite side of the table and into his owner. Louis has a strong, irrational impulse to pick up the dog and make a break for it – to whisk him away from this cold table and these clinical white walls and take him somewhere he can eat hot dogs and run as fast as he can and bring back Harry’s real smile. But he won’t be able to do any of those things unless Liam can make him well, so Louis grits his teeth against the feeling. When Liam takes some of Scout’s blood, Louis could swear that the dog locks eyes with him.

God, how do people have pets? The idea of caring for a living thing who can’t understand what’s happening to them makes Louis melancholy and anxious.

Liam asks Harry questions while he works: What has Scout been eating and when? Have his bowel movements been normal? Is he throwing up? The answers seem to confirm his hypothesis, especially Harry’s complaint that the stool sample had been difficult to obtain, since Scout had made several fruitless trips out into the yard over the past few days.

Since Harry called him, Louis has been preparing himself for one possible outcome: that the news would be bad. Usually, he stumbles into the right thing to do on those occasions. It’s something Louis prides himself on – in his more prideful moments, that is. He’s good at sensing what a person needs from him when they’re sad or shocked, whether that’s to be held and cry, like his sister did after the sudden death of a close childhood friend, or to be told embarrassing stories and bought enough Sam Adams to sink a small ship, like Niall did once he and Barbara finally decided to go their separate ways.

But he has no confidence that he’ll know what to do with Harry. Harry, who’s so tremendously alive that he’s literally captivated the world. 

It was no different in high school. Harry wasn’t like the other popular kids, who loudly and self-consciously proclaimed their happiness and supremacy to everyone around him. But he could find the fun in everything – in this quiet, organic way that made Louis feel hope. Despair would look wrong on him, Louis is certain. The very idea of it is unnatural, which makes him doubt that he could read it and to be here for him in the manner Harry needs.

“His temperature is normal and everything else looks fine,” Liam begins, once he’s satisfied with his findings. Louis and Harry both still, not planning on releasing the tension in their respective bodies until Liam is done. “It feels like he’s a little backed up, which is probably why he hasn’t been eating. Dogs are just like people. Their routine can be disrupted by travel, unusual foods, stuff like that. The stool and blood samples will tell us if there’s anything more serious going on, but I’d be surprised if that were the case. Try feeding him chicken and rice instead of his normal diet for the next three to four days. That ought to get his bowels moving again and soothe his stomach.”

Harry lets out a relieved exhale, slumping forward slightly. Louis squeezes the back of his arm, just above his elbow, and smiles.

“We’ll have those results in about 24 hours. I’ll call you with them myself, so you can rest easy.”

“Liam, thank you. You have no idea–”

“I think I do, actually,” the vet interrupts Harry, his own accommodating grin returning. “He’s your guy.”

“He really is,” Harry confirms, voice heavy with emotion. Strange, Louis thinks, that a little constipation could cause this much drama. Scout’s eyes roll almost sheepishly upward as Harry rubs him down.

“Go ahead, get out of here,” Liam says, shooing them away with Scout’s chart. “Go. Enjoy the day.”

Harry moves behind Louis and around the table to embrace Liam, who accepts his physical appreciation with a little “oof.” 

Fuck if Louis’ heart doesn’t thaw towards Liam at that moment. His overachieving is significantly less annoying when it’s taking sadness and stress away from Harry. Louis has learned a lot about grudges over the past few months – possibly enough to let another pointless one go.

He makes a point to shake Liam’s hand heartily on the way out.

Exhausted by the ordeal and his own anxiety, Scout promptly falls asleep on Harry’s lap during the ride home. It’s as if he knows that Harry did what he needed to do to care for him and that he’d be comfortable again soon. 

“Louis,” Harry says, watching Scout’s back rise and fall with his slow, even breaths. “I don’t even know what to say…”

Louis almost resents the gratitude and wonder in his voice. As much as the concept of anything even slightly inconvenient befalling Harry offends and frightens him, he now knows he wants to be the first call whenever it does.

“Harry, it’s nothing. This was what, an hour of my day?”

Harry shakes his head, mildly frustrated. “I’m not talking about the ride.”

Louis briefly takes his eyes off the road to find a pensive Harry, just when he’d been on the verge of getting used to the determined flirt version. 

“I told you that I needed somebody with me, and you didn’t even hesitate. You didn’t even need a second to think about it, Lou,” Harry continues, voice low. “It could have been bad news. And that’s not...I wouldn’t want to put you through that, but I didn’t–”

“There wasn’t anything to think about,” Louis says, talking to the windshield, embarrassed by the praise. “You shouldn’t have had to go alone.”

“Some people don’t like it when I’m like this,” Harry murmurs. “Sad or scared or whatever. There’ve been people – friends, even – and as soon as I’m not a ‘good time,’ they’re gone.”

“That’s…” Louis bites his lip hard, stunned that he can feel so protective of a grown man who has as much as Harry does. “That’s really shitty, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, just props his elbow up in the window and watches the neighborhood pass by.

“I know I already interrupted your day, but,” he says after a few moments of loaded silence, “if you’re not busy, you can stay? The kids won’t let you get a moment’s peace and it’s a godawful mess in there right now, but mom’s making sauce for tonight and she always cooks for an army.”

It should be hard to reconcile this tender, hesitant person with the swaggering celebrity who approached Louis at the reunion, wearing his intentions on his bulging sleeve. But it’s not. 

“We’d love to have you.”

“Thanks, superstar,” Louis beams. “A family day sounds great.”

They stop at the market closest to Harry’s mom’s house, and Harry stays in the car with Scout while Louis runs in to pick up two packages of plain chicken breasts and a box of Uncle Ben’s.

They’re greeted at the door by Rose and Jackson, who’ve spent the morning making “get well soon” cards for Scout out of construction paper, glitter, and crayons. Louis reintroduces himself to Gemma, an upperclassman he’d only really known by her reputation as the president of the literary magazine, and to Harry’s mother Anne, who he’d seen from afar on opening nights.

Their smiles are wide and their eyes shrewd, and Louis regrets not asking Harry what exactly he’d told his family about him before they got back to the house.

Gemma stays with the kids in the living room, where they resume their dozenth watch of  _ Wreck-It Ralph,  _ according to her weary proclamation. Anne and Louis follow Harry into the kitchen to boil Scout’s dinner. 

“I’m trying to get them interested in the classics,” Harry explains of the kids. “I mean,  _ Ralph’s _ great, but it’s no  _ Dumbo.” _

Anne starts a new pot of coffee at Louis' eager nod, then settles in across from him at the kitchen table. Ignoring Harry completely, Anne takes inventory on Louis, asking how his mother and sisters have been and about how he thinks the school year went. 

“Don’t you have to read him his rights first?” Harry drawls from the stovetop at one point. 

“You, be quiet,” his mother says, her wink at Louis betraying her attempt at a firm tone. “I haven’t seen Jay in ages. And there are things a mother wants to know.”

Louis feels himself color at this, certain now that Harry hasn’t talked about him as just a friend. He continues politely answering her questions, all of which are completely harmless, until the coffee is gone.

The rest of the afternoon is whiled away with board games. Apparently Rose and Jackson have taken a shine to some of the classic ones that Anne has kept and look forward to unfolding the  _ Sorry!  _ board on every visit. Louis had declared a moratorium on board games after Niall tried to get him into  _ Settlers of Catan _ , which he found boring and incomprehensible, but he’d forgotten how much fun a simpler setup could be.

Harry’s niece and nephew are sharp and funny – a trail that can be traced back to Gemma. They don’t need to be entertained; they’re skilled at making their own fun, and Louis enjoys their company immensely. He doesn’t miss the sideways looks that Harry’s sister throws their way every time he and Harry tease each other about the game, and, not for the first time, he wishes they were close friends so that he could pick her brain about him.

He insists on helping with dinner and is put in charge of the salad. Louis chops tomatoes and green onions on a worn, wooden cutting board while Harry stirs the simmering sauce, both of them singing along to every cloying ballad Delilah plays for her lovestruck callers.

The product of a big family, Louis feels right at home here – in the midst of noise and activity. Harry grew up in a quieter space, as the baby of a smaller brood. But you’d never know it to see him now, an apron that reads “Will Cook for Wine” hanging off of his form and feeding Rose a taste test of the bolognese from his wooden spoon.

“Is that my scrunchie?” Gemma accuses as she returns to the kitchen, pointing at the pastel pink accessory in Harry’s hair.

Harry shrugs, not appearing a bit sorry.

“Can’t take your eyes off him for a second, Louis,” she says, looking pointedly at him. “He’s worse than my children, I swear.”

Dinner is an early affair because of the kids, but Louis is starving by the time the salad, pasta, and garlic bread hit the table. With just a few bites of his breakfast sandwich lining his stomach, he cautions himself to take it easy on the wine. But the evening flows too easily for that.

If he were sober, he might have reason to question why he folds so elegantly into this family. But as it is, he’s too enchanted by the way the candlelight plays on Harry’s features and the casual grace with which Anne and Gemma make him feel right at home to do anything but go with the flow. Long after the kids head to the living room –  _ with  _ permission – to watch another movie, the four adults linger in the dining room, polishing off a third bottle of a full-bodied red and laughing almost nonstop. Gemma and Anne insist on carrying in the dishes and putting away the leftovers since the boys also did their bit and Louis is a guest. Harry takes Scout out to the yard and celebrates with everyone when it seems that the new diet is already working.

Eventually, the world outside the windows becomes a deep blue, and Louis is about to excuse himself and call a car. But then Harry’s hand is on his knee under the table, his fingers writing his inseam into his skin.

He’s rooted to the spot by Harry’s touch. Louis doesn't move when Gemma announces that she’s going to start getting the kids ready for bed, or when Anne declares her intention to retire to her room and read. Harry settles his hand higher on his thigh, and Louis' cock starts to fill up, unaware that he’s drunk too much for that to be even possible.

There really shouldn’t be anything sexy about being with an adult under his parent’s roof. But Louis' real life is tangling up with his frequent teen fantasies again. Every single time he’d dropped Harry off in his driveway, knowing that his mother wouldn’t arrive home until dinner, Louis had imagined Harry silently leading him inside and up to his room. What they did up there varied, depending on the daydream. But the constant was the thrill of it – that Harry would risk something to be closer to Louis. 

Louis doesn't know what they’re waiting for until it happens. Above them, one door shuts and then another. The kids still prattle on about the excitement of the evening and their new friend, but their voices are muffled.

“Come on,” Harry says, quiet but sure, tugging Louis to his feet.

Just like this morning, Louis has no choice to make. He follows Harry through the living room and up the stairs dutifully, trying to telegraph this experience back through time to his 17-year-old self, who’d so longed to take this journey.

Harry is straight-faced and determined, which sends a spark of lust through Louis. He’s still grasping Louis' hand when they come spilling through his bedroom door, but he lets go to carefully close and lock it against curious children. Louis wills his body to understand the circumstances. Even if Harry weren’t on this kick about delayed gratification, his relatives are mere feet away. Yet there’s sense memory, with the familiarity of Louis standing at the foot of a bed and Harry stalking towards him, want written across his face and in his body language.

He barely registers the tasteful, spare decor of an adult child’s bedroom that’s been transformed into a guest room. If he were to turn his back on Harry’s intensity, he’d see the blank space over the head of the bed where, Harry had told him a few days ago, his mother had once hung a poster from his first big film – the first one to market itself on the merit of Harry’s jawline and hero posture. She’d taken it down after the reunion, on his request.

Then Harry’s cupping Louis' jaw with his hand, the lingering bite of garlic invading Louis' senses along with his touch.

“You were incredible today,” Harry says, eyes roving all over Louis' face.

“Is that so?” Louis says, trying and failing to sound airy and unaffected. “Was it my tomato chopping skills? Those perfect wedges turn you on?”

Harry ignores the joke, tracing the line of Louis' cheekbone with his thumb. “They love you. All of them.” 

The silence of the rest of the house wraps around them. If they weren’t talking about Harry’s family, Louis could almost pretend that they weren’t there.

“They’re really wonderful, Harry. A family worth missing.”

Harry makes a little “mmm” sound that sets the fluttering in Louis' stomach off again, his hands settling on Louis' neck. “I like you here.”

They’re only four words, but they throw Louis back into uncertainty. “Here” as in on the hook and waiting for Harry to come through town again? A part-time relationship that doesn’t infringe on his real life? Or “here” with the people Harry loves? The people he’ll always come back to?

There isn’t a moment to ask, because Harry leans into him, a smile pulling his lips tight.

It’s a contagious one, so their teeth connect first – a jolt that shoots Louis out of his head and back into this moment. Harry laughs into his mouth, and it’s a low, breathy thing that lights Louis' skin on fire.

Burning away, it screams for contact. Knowing that he’s not going to get everything he wants tonight only fuels Louis to make the most of this – to turn on everything he’s got and kiss the good sense out of Harry.

So he gets serious, gripping Harry’s waist and crushing their hips together. He uses Harry’s gasp to gain entry to his mouth – possibly a dirty play, but he doesn’t hear anyone complaining. 

Louis had the element of surprise, but Harry has his size, and it’s almost impossible to argue with. He pulls back, giving Louis' tongue one last suck as he does, then actually  _ pushes  _ him onto the bed with a quick shove to his chest.

He follows soon after, landing half on Louis and half on his side, and covering Louis' indignant yelp with another searing kiss. He must taste like a clove of garlic dipped in a bottle of wine, because so does Harry. But there’s no reason to complain when it reminds him of things that are simple and whole and good – things that are heavy and filling and stay with you. As lazy and slow as they make you feel, they’re not to be given up, because why else is life worth living?

Harry’s thigh presses into Louis' half-hard cock and really. Fuck waiting. Fuck “special.” Louis can be quiet if he needs to. He can bite the pillow – or even better, the heel of Harry’s palm – instead of chanting his name. Try him.

He lets his neck fall backwards, and Harry falls right into his trap, dragging his lips down under Louis' jaw and over his pulse point. Without warning, Louis throws a leg over Harry and flips him onto his back, coming to sit on his narrow hips. 

“You’ve got to stop starting things you can’t finish, Styles,” Louis rasps, leaning back and bracing his hands on Harry’s chest. “Do you have some kind of denial kink I should know about?”

Underneath him, Harry’s hair fans out on the navy duvet, his skin flushed. Then swollen lips quirk upward, making Louis question whether he really does have the upper hand. Whether he ever did.

“We could have had this,” he says, voice slightly wrecked but still steady. His hands run up and down Louis' quads, carefully avoiding the bulge in his jeans. “Back then. Fuck, I wanted it.”

“Dunno how good it would have been,” Louis teases, drawing random shapes on Harry’s pecs and stomach with the tips of his fingers. “I probably would have come in my pants the first time you touched me.”

“God, I used to just...fucking  _ stare  _ at you,” Harry counters. “I was so sure that you knew.”

“Harry, I liked you so much I couldn’t see straight.” Louis pauses. “Or do anything straight, really.”

An edge of regret wedges its way into the quiet of the room, so Louis slides off of Harry’s lower half, coming to stretch out next to him on the bed. They turn into each other, faces only inches apart.

“I thought about kissing you and taking off your clothes and making love to you,” Harry continues, making a pillow for his head out of his forearm. “But that wasn’t the part that seemed the most...impossible, I guess.”

Louis tangles their socked feet together and waits for him to continue.

“I wanted to be able to send you a carnation on Valentine’s Day and have everyone know it was me. I wanted to walk with you in the halls and call you my boyfriend. I wanted to ask you to the prom.”

“I want to think...” Louis takes his time. “I want to think that if you had, I would have been brave enough to say yes.”

“We’ll never get that back,” Harry says, staring straight into Louis' eyes.

“I know.” Louis strokes his hair – a gesture of empathy, not seduction. “It’s not fair that it was harder for us. But a lot of people have a shitty time in high school – most people, really – and there are about a million reasons to be afraid to be yourself. Still. So we can either sit around and mope about a dance that happened 20 years ago and had the spectacularly appropriative theme of Arabian Nights, or we can think about how lucky we are. All those people who hated high school – you know what most of them didn’t get?”

Harry’s eyebrow arches upwards. “A seven-picture deal with Disney?” 

“No, you fool,” Louis scoffs. “That second chance you won’t shut up about.”

When Louis sweetly presses his closed mouth to Harry’s a few seconds later, it serves two purposes: first, to assure the beautiful man in front of him that he hasn’t been living his life wrong, and second, to distract that man so Louis can blindly grasp above for a pillow and then pummel him with it. 

Harry’s affronted retaliation leads to full-blown roughhousing, and god only knows what Gemma thinks she’s interrupting when she raps on Harry’s door and hisses a warning through the crack.

*****

The whispers had carried through the drama kids like wildfire until finally, the rumor was confirmed: the spring musical of Louis' senior year would be  _ West Side Story. _

As far as Louis was concerned, the choice alone guaranteed them several nominations for the Boston area high school theater awards. They’d have to go a long way to fuck up  _ West Side Story _ , a favorite of many of the old-school locals who made up the committee.

It was a favorite of his mother’s too, which is how Louis knew the show – at least the movie version – inside and out before he even began his traditional pre-audition research.

Harry was another story.

“ _ Never see– _ Harry, you shouldn’t even be allowed into the auditorium,” Louis said when Harry dropped by his and Niall’s regular lunch table to ask if he had a copy Harry could borrow. “The force field should activate and like, bounce you off.”

“Just missed it, I suppose,” Harry shrugged, unoffended by Louis' rant.

“You’ve seen  _ a  _ musical though, right?”

“Duh, of course.”

“So what’s your favorite?”

“ _ Beauty and the Beast _ , obviously – so you have it?”

Louis tried to school his expression into submission just then, because Niall, the only person in the world Louis had ever told about his feelings for Harry, was crushing Louis' toes with his foot.

As amazing as Niall had been when Louis clumsily came out to him during a late night Playstation session, Louis didn’t need him to point out the obvious.

_ You should just come over, Harry. We can watch it together. Get a pizza.  _

The words were on the tip of his tongue as soon as the question was out of Harry’s mouth. Louis could practically feel his mother’s couch depress with the weight of a tall, slender body sitting next to him. He could see Harry grow sleepy and tactile, as he did during long tech rehearsals, but this time, there wouldn’t be a line of chorus girls slapping each other’s hands out of his way to be the one to give him a shoulder massage. There would only be Louis and the dark and one of musical theater’s most epic love stories.

Louis kicked Niall in the ankle with his other foot, sending his knee slamming up into the table.

“ _ Fuck.  _ Jesus, Tommo.”

Louis peered at him innocently, while Harry’s gaze ping-ponged between them, confused.

It couldn’t happen.

Instead he promised to bring the tape to Harry the next day, receiving a beaming smile that told him that he was right not to suggest anything more.

He’d regretted it the following Monday, however, when Harry returned the movie to him and proceeded to gush over what he’d seen. Not that it was so bad watching his eyes alight as Harry recounted the dance at the gym, but Louis had robbed himself of the chance to be there as Harry experienced it for the first time.

By the time auditions rolled around, he was completely unlike the Harry Louis had first met in the line for  _ Noises Off _ . Louis found him in the same hallway, five minutes before Corden was starting to see aspiring leads. Harry was jittery and glassy-eyed, mumbling lyrics under his breath. He wasn’t the only one; it threw Louis solely because Harry had been so cooly curious last time, like he was investigating an interest he wasn’t quite sure yet that he shared.

“Hey,” Louis said, coming to stand in front of Harry’s restless feet. “You alright?”

“Hm?” Harry dropped his music between his knees and stared up at Louis from his seat on the floor. “What?”

Louis chuckled softly, dipping his head to hide how endeared he was by this new, jumpy creature who wanted something bad enough that the idea of not getting it scared him.

“Do I need to take you to the nurse or something?”

Harry colored at that, digging himself deeper into his regulation hoodie. “No, ‘m fine. It’s just different. You know, since we have to sing.”

Louis dropped his backpack, then slid down the wall until he came to rest next to him. “Yeah, it is. A lot scarier. For some reason, it’s worse with just Corden and Higgins in there staring at you. At least when there’s an audience you don’t have to think about any particular person. You can just kind of...get lost in it. The lights help too.”

“So this is the worst part?”

“Oh no, definitely not,” Louis turned to smile at Harry, slow and teasing and wise. “The worst part is right before you go onstage at that first performance. Because you’ll forget everything I told you and almost shit your pants with fear. But then somebody will push you out there and you’ll see your friends and you’ll remember why we do this.”

Harry’s gaze turned attentive. The incessant tapping of his right foot slowed down. “Why  _ do  _ we?” he asked Louis – quietly, a secret.

“Because we can,” Louis said simply. He leaned into Harry’s side and bumped their shoulders together. “Because we  _ dare.”  _

There was a fair amount of singing that went on during last year’s show – not onstage, but off. Theater kids will fill silence as theater kids do, which is to say, mostly with selections from  _ Rent  _ and  _ Chicago.  _ Harry would join in sometimes, and if Louis were near him, he’d feel more than hear the rumble of his lower register. But, unlike the rest of them, who were constantly vying for dominance, Harry never tried to outsing his classmates. So Louis couldn’t honestly bolster him here – he had no idea whether Harry had the musical chops for a lead role, despite having everything else Corden could possibly be looking for, including a face that could realistically inspire a beautiful young girl to go against her family’s wishes.

As far as pep talks go, however, that was off the table.

Instead, Louis went with something that was also true, but safe.

“Come on. Corden loves you,” he said, coaxing a smile out of Harry. “And you’re a senior, so there’s going to be a part for you no matter what. They’re too afraid of angry parents not to cast us.”

He could hear chatter behind him, more boys turning up for auditions. Louis didn’t turn to look, happy to keep Harry in his sights and ignore the other competition. But he wasn’t stressed for himself, mostly because the amount of boys who came out for the musicals was fewer than those who tried for the straight plays, and about half the girls Corden and Higgins would see. It was the one time this school’s obsession with the “right” way of being a boy worked in his favor, and Louis was only too happy to exploit that failing.

“No, I know,” Harry agreed, stretching his back straighter against the wall. “Just want to get this part over with.”

Just then, the door in front of them pushed open, revealing a girl who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, cradling a clipboard. Jen. One of the techies.

“Alright, who’s up first?”

“You go,” Harry blurted out, just as Louis was opening his mouth to tell him to break a leg. “I just need another minute. Please.”

“Are you sure, you jus–”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll be fine. Go ahead, please. You’ll be great.”

Harry was biting his lip so hard that the pink around his teeth was turning white, and Louis had never felt more compelled to hug him, which was saying something.

Jen sighed loudly behind them, annoyed at them for throwing off her schedule.

“I’ll wait outside for you, okay?” Louis said, settling for a light punch to Harry’s bicep and rising to his feet. “So you can tell me how it went.”

Harry nodded sharply, and Louis gave him his most reassuring grin, coupled with a thumbs up. Then he followed Lauren out onto the stage, handed her his paperwork, and delivered the audition scene, with Corden reading as the leading lady. The easy part out of the way, Louis waited for the teacher’s nod, then sang the required 16 bars of “Maria,” exactly how he’d practiced them. 

He didn’t have the voice of a Tony, and he knew that. But Louis liked what his higher, brighter tone did to the song, and Corden’s expression told him that he did too. 

“Thank you, Louis,” Corden said as he jotted something down on his pad. “Good work.”

His own nerves – yes, he had them too – whooshed out of his stomach. “Thanks, sir.”

He gave Corden another smile as he passed his seat in the third row, the teacher shaking his head fondly in the wake of Louis' confidence.

It only took a few more rows for Louis' thoughts to return to Harry, and by the middle of the orchestra he had an idea.

He continued up the incline as he was supposed to. He glanced back up at the stage when he reached the door to the lobby. Higgins was looking down at his music, Corden was facing away from him, and Jen was nowhere in sight – probably fetching Harry in the hallway. 

Satisfied, Louis pushed open one of the double doors, but instead of exiting through it, let it fall back into place, then crouched behind the last row of seats. He told himself it wasn’t an invasion of privacy, because it was Corden’s rule, not Harry’s, that auditions be totally closed.

This wasn’t about judging Harry or knowing what he was up against either. Since the moment they met, Louis had been hungry to know everything about Harry, from his breakfast cereal preference to his dreams for the future. When Louis sang, he felt opened up in ways he never felt doing anything else. The temptation to see Harry exposed in the same way was just too great to ignore. 

The tiny sliver of guilt he felt about hiding here like a stalker wasn’t enough to get Louis to leave. Anyway, he’d sealed himself in with that little door trick. To open it again would be to reveal himself.

But what if Harry kept putting off his audition? Or worse, had left? Louis could be stuck in his hiding place for the rest of the night, or at least until he could follow someone out who would be cool and not tell on him. 

Crushes were stupid. Crushes made  _ him  _ stupid.

The sound of voices interrupted Louis' panicking. He dared to peek over the edge, relieved and a little thrilled to see Harry walking downstage, holding his audition form in both hands, saying a soft hello.

“Glad to see you here, Harry,” Corden said. The size of the casting pool for male lead roles was the bane of his existence, and he let everyone know it. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Louis stayed sitting on his heels as Harry read his lines, not tempted to peek and risk being seen until it was time for the second half of the tryout. Louis needed to know if Harry let his eyes flutter closed when he sang. But as Higgins played the first few notes, he dropped back out of sight again, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Hearing him was already enough to make Louis' life 25% more miserable than it already was.

Because Harry’s voice was smooth and full and  _ deep _ . It started tentatively, but gained strength as he listed all the ways one could say Maria’s name. And it wasn’t the “musical theater” voice that so many of their peers copied off of Tony ceremonies and cast recordings. Harry’s was different: unpolished and real and dripping with emotion. Louis could already picture the parents in the audience dabbing their faces with tissues, the girls running up to Harry at school to tell him how much he made them cry.

If Corden didn’t cast him, he was crazy.

“Wow,” Corden said, waiting until Harry drew out his last note. “That’s really all I’ve got to say, just: wow.”

“Really? Thank you.”

“List goes up on Tuesday,” the teacher continued. He seemed to want to add something. A promise, maybe. But of course, he couldn’t do that.

“Great.” Harry blew out a rush of air, relieved. “Great. Thanks again, Mr. Corden.”

Louis shifted his weight, waking up his frozen muscles, as Harry’s footsteps drew closer and closer. 

A pit dropped into Louis' stomach, and suddenly, this seemed like a very, very bad idea. What right did he have to sneak into Harry’s audition without his permission? What if Harry wasn’t happy about it and never spoke to him again? Not only would Louis lose their friendship, he’d be the musical’s pariah, on the outs with the leading man and new school star.

The last row of the seats beyond the break where he was hiding called to him – he could just lay down back there until auditions were done, either sneaking out when the janitor turned on his vacuum or getting locked in for the night. It would serve him right.

There wasn’t enough time though, so Louis swallowed his fear and positioned himself right near the aisle. 

When Harry’s feet and shins came into view, Louis reached out with a shaky hand and tapped him right on the top of his sneaker. Harry yelped and dropped his chin down to the left, spotting Louis – a shameful stowaway. Louis raised his finger to his lips, eyes pleading. 

And Harry broke into a smile.

Louis' blood started pumping normally again – if a little hotter – but he stayed put as Harry tossed a look over his shoulder to see if the noise had called any attention. Then he gave Louis a pointed glance and moved casually towards the door, Louis following him out and staying low.

He didn’t breathe properly again until the big, sound-muffling doors were shut again, and he and Harry were alone in the lobby.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry said, running a hand through his curls. “That was a rush.”

He paced around the space, surrounded by a gallery of student artwork. Louis, who knew it well, wanted to bottle the feeling for him. “It is, yeah...Have you ever sung in front of anybody before?”

“In the car, around the house. But never, like, on a stage. Fuck, I feel like I’m going to throw up. But in a good way? Is that a thing?” Harry rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. Louis' hand itched to come to his back and make small, soothing circles.

“Everything you’re feeling is totally normal,” he half-joked, pushing that idea out of his mind. “Your body is growing and changing...”

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry laughed, shaking his head at him. “I can’t believe you stayed. Corden would have killed you if you got caught.”

Louis tossed his hair out of his eyes. “Nah, it’s not like that. He would have yelled and gotten all red–”

“Like he did when Ed spilled orange soda all over his costume before final dress last year?”

“Exactly like that, thank you, Harold,” Louis confirmed. “But me and Corden, we have an understanding. We’re cool. We get each other. And anyway, you just seemed really freaked out back there. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I don’t know if I would have been more or less nervous if I’d known you were there,” Harry said thoughtfully, and it hit Louis strangely, because he knew exactly what Harry meant.

“Hmm. And now I have some top-secret, advance information,” he teased.

Harry fixed him with an inquisitive look.

“You’re gonna get the lead.”

Harry rolled his eyes and shifted his weight.

“Harry, you should know by now that I know what I’m talking about,” Louis continued, seriously. “If Corden doesn’t cast you, then somebody’s parents are paying him off. You’re Tony.”

“But I–what about you?”

“I was born to be Riff,” Louis said easily. “Don’t change the subject.”

“There’s no way…”

“Trust me.”

Harry looked into his eyes for longer than was really good for Louis' mental wellbeing, searching for the joke or the exaggeration. Though his body temperature rose, Louis wouldn’t look away. He wouldn’t let Harry think he was making fun of him. Seemingly satisfied, Harry finally turned his head, his posture drooping in panic and surrender.

“Fuck, Louis. You gotta help me. If this happens, I–I don’t know how to lead an entire musical.”

“We can handle it,” Louis said. “No sweat. You know I’m not going to let you embarrass me out there. You’ve just gotta be ready for everything that comes with it.”

“Everything?”

“The popularity. The mystique,” Louis stated, with a wave of his hand. “Happens every musical. You’ll be fending off prom dates, so, uh, you should probably start thinking about who you want to ask now.”

“Oh.” Most boys their age would see this as a plus, but Harry seemed conflicted, his eyes dropping to the floor and hand coming to nervously rub the back of his neck.

“If you ask her early, then you won’t feel too bad turning other people down,” Louis suggested, unable to stop himself from digging for information he’d probably regret he had. Because there had to be somebody. Jocks in their school didn’t just walk around dateless. A jock with a voice, now, there was a super-being who could potentially upend the whole social status quo.

“Yeah...yeah, you’re right, that’s a good idea.”

Louis wanted to ask who the lucky girl was, though definitely not in those words. But he had no answer for Harry’s inevitable parallel question. He’d been assuming that he’d end up going with Jade or Jesy or one of his other girlfriends — someone who just wanted to have fun and didn’t have grand dreams of a romantic prom or, god help him, their first time. But he couldn’t say that now. He couldn’t reveal that no girl in their school or any other had ever made his hands as sweaty as they were right now.

“Harry, listen to me,” he said instead. “You’ve got this.”

And even though he felt Harry drifting out of his reach already, Louis was so happy for him that he did.


	6. Chapter 6

“This mall did used to have real stores, right? I didn’t imagine it.”

Niall returns a portable, personal air conditioner with “AS SEEN ON TV” emblazoned on the box back to its shelf.

“At least a Spencer’s,” Harry agrees, frowning at the Wonder Mop in his hands. 

“Don’t you worry, superstar, it’s still here,” Louis clarifies. “Other side, remember? All the fart sound keychains you can buy.”

“Oh good. I was planning on stocking up on some ‘Over the Hill’ napkins for your next big birthday. Maybe some balloons. ‘Lordy, lordy, look Lou’s 40.’”

Louis grabs the handle of the mop and flips it forward so its absorbent head swipes across Harry’s face, and, he’s pleased to see, a little into his mouth.

“Niall, what did I say?” he asks, while Harry sputters. “Park near the food court, not the crap end. Unless you think Barbara’s birthday wish is an airbrushed unicorn crop top.”

Niall cocks his head and purses his lips.

“ _ Stop  _ considering it,” Louis demands. “Can’t anyone take a joke around here?”

It shouldn’t be much trouble, considering they’re surrounded by cheap gags. Over the years, as Amazon established its evil empire, the mall layout Louis once had memorized changed, store by store. Name brand retailers went from 70% clearance to selling the fixtures to vacating completely, only to be replaced by Christmas shops, personalized jersey stores, and this — a non-stop infomercial you can walk right into. Some “real” stores have survived, and the department stores are still going strong. Still, it gives the whole enterprise a whiff of desperation. At least Louis, clinging tight to this new, transient normal, blends right in.

“Louis! Louis, look.”

Louis turns towards Harry’s voice to find him cradling an oversized Captain America Pez dispenser like a baby, face lit up with a crooked grin. “Can we keep him?”

“Put it down. It doesn’t even look like you.”

Harry frowns — adorably, but Louis refuses to show that he thinks so — and does as he’s told.

“Let’s go.”

Gifts were never an issue when Niall and Barbara were together. More often than not, Niall would treat her to “an adventure,” whether that was a trip into the city to try a new cuisine, a long weekend somewhere they’d never been, or a private archery lesson. Those options weren’t exactly on the table anymore, for all the reasons that they were once perfect. So he had texted Louis this morning, panicked, at a loss as to a gift that would please Barbara and reflect what she meant to him now. Thoughtful but not romantic; personal but not intimate. The Wonder Mop simply wouldn’t do.

“What about a nice scarf?” Harry muses as they weave through shoppers. “Or a sweater?”

“Barbara used to be his  _ wife _ , not his grandmother,” Louis counters. “Anyway, she runs her own boutique. She’s drowning in ‘em.”

“A sweater is actually something that can be so personal,” Harry mumbles. “‘S the thought that counts, right?”

“That’s what people who give crap gifts say,” Louis says, diluting his insult with a kiss to the back of Harry’s hand.

“Why did I wait?” Niall moans. “I’m such an idiot. This is going to set the tone for our whole relationship going forward, you know that?”

“Niall, relax. You two have a great thing going. Your divorce is healthier than most marriages. One birthday gift isn’t going to make or break it.”

“I just want her to know that I still love her. Not in that way, but I do.”

“She does, buddy,” Louis reassures. “You show her that all the time.”

Honestly, he should teach classes. There has to be a market for it.

Barbara never doubted that Niall respected her, even in the painful eye of their breakup. He may take out his frustrations about his job on his coworkers, but Niall wasn’t that petty with his ex-wife. Sure, Louis had to hear all of his grievances, whether they were muttered in a booth at Sal’s, Niall’s eyes flying around the room to see if anyone who knew Barbara was close enough to overhear, or bellowed in Louis' living room over a Red Sox post-game show. But he never let their relationship become toxic. If Niall hadn’t been so adamant throughout all of it that the spark really  _ was _ gone, Louis would have put money on them getting back together.

“Maybe...if I stop thinking about it, something will just,  _ bam _ , come to me.” Niall looks around Louis to eye up Harry. “Sooooo, how’s the screenplay going? Give me everything. Every fucking...comma, semi-colon. Whatever.”

With tremendous guilt, Louis realizes he hasn’t brought up Harry’s project since he’s been home. Harry rarely talks about it himself if he’s not asked. He hasn’t even offered any pages, never mind the line he easily caught Louis with at the reunion.

_ Read my screenplay?  _ Louis fell into bed over that. How cliche.

The lie to tell here is that Louis hadn’t wanted to pressure Harry. He’d wanted him to feel free in his creative process and trusted Harry to bring him into it whenever he was ready – if ever. But the truth is that Louis hated to hear that it was coming along well and dreaded the announcement that Harry was finished. When he was, he could add that to the hundreds of reasons a movie star in his prime shouldn’t be hiding away in Bedford, Mass, where barely a mid-range retailer could stay alive.

Louis wants to see something solid when he looks at him. But in his eyes, Harry’s edges are always blurry. Like he’s in standing in front of a green screen in a studio somewhere and not really there with Louis at all. A CGI, motion-capture relationship. That’s what he has.

“It’s coming along,” Harry says. “I’ve made one of the big overhauls I wanted to. I still have to delete this extraneous character who somehow invaded the thing. That’ll take a while.”

“D’you think you’ll star in it? People will  _ love  _ that – the big superhero goes artistic.”

“Ha,” Harry gives them a rueful smile. “We’ll see. By the time I talk somebody into financing it, I might be too old. Same goes for if my agent gets his way.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” Louis asks innocently.

“There’s this other big franchise they’re trying to get off the ground. Based on some YA books? It’s good money and the part’s not  _ terrible _ , but I sign on for that and that’s the next five years of my life, right there on paper. I wouldn’t trade the Avengers gig for anything, but I don’t know if I can jump right back into that kind of commitment.”

Louis can hear the trepidation in Harry’s tone. This isn’t something he wants.

“And he’s trying to talk you into taking it? Don’t agents work for you?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty into the idea,” Harry confirms. “I think he thought I’d have some kind of epiphany out here and be begging to sign the contract by day two. Probably why he didn’t make a fuss about me going ghost for a while.”

“But you told him you want to make _ this  _ movie,” Louis attempts to clarify. “Your movie.”

“Well, he knows what I’m working on, and he’ll set up the meetings and stuff when I’m ready. But I promised him I’d consider the series, for real. So I’m honestly trying to. It’s not like it’s one or the other. It’d take longer, but I can do both.”

“Sure,” Niall says casually. “So that’d be in LA, if you take it?”

Harry looks away from the Gap window they’re passing and right at Louis. 

“Hungary, I think. Something about the tax breaks.”

“Oh,” Louis manages flatly.

“Oh thank god, the Orange Julius is still here,” Harry exhales like he’s been worried over its fate for weeks. “You guys want?”

Niall and Louis both shake their heads and Harry shrugs. Releasing Louis' hand, he bounds over to the counter to get in its short line.

The food court isn’t especially crowded – you don’t need to break for the $8.99 teriyaki chicken special when you’re browsing Amazon at your desk – other than the large group congregating in the middle, near the fountain. Louis can just make out the logo of the Red Cross on a few signs framing the gathering. A blood drive, maybe?

But, no. The group appears to be mostly tiny people — maybe third or fourth grade in his expert opinion. They sit on folding chairs and face one side of the fountain, with half as many adults standing behind. A uniformed man and woman are addressing the group, using poster board bearing some blocky, simple graphics as a visual aid.

“Those your guys?” Louis says offhandedly to Niall, thinking that the cops could be running some kind of stranger danger seminar. He remembers panicking unduly through a few of those. He was a sensitive kid.

“Dunno,” Niall frowns, taking a few steps closer. “Don’t think so....Oh.”

“Oh, what?” Harry asks, coming to join them, holding an Orange Julius cup about the size of one of the children they’re looking at. “ _ Oh.” _

Louis puts together Harry’s bluntly evil grin, Niall’s blank expression, and the rest of the evidence. 

Stranger danger seminars weren’t the only lectures their parents dragged them to when they were kids. There was also safety camp. Hosted by real EMTs.

Shawn’s thick, wavy hair and lean, muscled frame start to take shape, now that Louis knows who he’s looking at.

“If it isn’t Niall’s knight in shining armor,” Harry chirps, giving away whatever his twinkling eyes left up to interpretation. “Come on, let’s go say hi.”

Niall throws an arm in front of both of them and shakes his head. Hard.

“Uh uh. No way.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because...because he’s clearly in the middle of something.”

“So? We’ll just wave.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t. You can’t wave?”

“You guys are being really weird.”

“It’s weird to say hello to the man who saved your life?”

“Yes. I mean, no, he didn’t  _ save my life _ .” Niall walks backwards until he’s almost flush against a pillar, evidently trying to blend it with it completely. “It wasn’t  _ that  _ big of a deal. Like, okay, when I came to on the floor, did I think that I was dead and that he was the angel who was going to accompany me to the afterlife?  _ Maybe.  _ But that’s nothing! It’s nothing. I was just out of it. And we should go. Like, no, we really should. Before he – before anybody – sees us.”

The kids erupt in tittering laughter. Niall looks past them, his wild gaze softening slightly.

Harry glances at Louis, his wide eyes a silent command.

“Niall,” Louis says calmly, reaching out to hold him steady by both biceps.  He waits for Niall's eyes to settle on him for he continues. “We can go if you really want to. But first I need to tell you something. And I need you to really hear me.”

Niall nods once, chaotic energy streaming off him in waves.

“They’re your words anyway. You said the same thing to me a long time ago, and now I get to return the favor.”

“Then spit it out, Lou, Christ,” Niall almost shouts.

Louis stares into his best friend’s face. His brow pulled tight and mouth slack, he looks as confused as Louis once felt, though perhaps,  _ much  _ better equipped to deal with it.

“It’s  _ okay  _ if you like him,” Louis whispers.

Niall says nothing, just falls into Louis' chest like a puppet with its strings cut. Harry wraps around Louis from behind and squeezes them both. His lips on the back of Louis' neck tell him that Harry knows who Niall was talking about all those years ago.

“Bet no one’s looking at us now,” Louis mumbles, with a mouth full of Niall’s hair.

They hold each other and laugh, and Louis remembers that uncertainty sometimes leads to the most beautiful discoveries.

*****

“How’s our boy?” Harry asks when Louis lets him in through the door outside the choir room during seventh period on Wednesday afternoon.

“A little all over the place,” Louis answers, taking the opportunity of pulling the door shut behind him to smell the sun on Harry’s browning skin. In no way does Louis object to him setting up shop in his mom’s backyard to work on his script and his tan at the same time. “You know how it is.”

“Mmm.” Harry looks around them and, finding no one else in the hallway, plants his hands on either side of Louis' face and darts in for a quick kiss. “Can’t say I miss that.”

“Mostly I agree with you.” Louis rushes ahead of Harry to hide his rising blush. “But isn’t there something, like,  _ magical  _ about it too? He came over last night and we talked and talked and fucking  _ talked _ , and yes, at certain points, a teeny, tiny part of me longed for Netflix.”

Harry snorts, following Louis into his classroom.

“But he’s like a new man. It’s adorable. He was 15 when he had his last crush and he married her. I’ve honestly never seen him like this.”

“So did anything…?”

“As a matter of fact,” Louis smirks, “it did.”

Harry makes a frantic “tell me” motion with his hands, dropping into the chair next to Louis' desk.

“He texted. Saturday night, after Shawn saw us, he texted Niall. Nothing serious, just some conversation. But he’s clearly interested.”

“Please. They had the meet cute of a lifetime, of course he’s interested. It’s  _ fate _ , Lou, that’s what it is. This isn’t Katherine Heigl and whoever-the-fuck. This is Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan shit.”

“Well, either way, our work here is not done. It’s been a while since he’s been out there, so we may have to orchestrate a group hang-type thing – and not at the dodgeball bar, something real.”

“I’m obviously in. Just tell me what to do.” 

“In due time, my friend, in due time. We have more pressing matters today.” Louis walks to the chalkboard, picks up a piece, and writes, “Senior project feedback with Mr. Styles” across the top.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” Harry says, biting the inside of his cheek in genuine anticipation. “They can call me Harry though.”

“I prepped them a little yesterday,” Louis explains. “They’re pretty mature, but we talked about behavior and boundaries and all that. I said you were happy to take selfies, but we’d save that for the end of class. They’ve been working hard on these and we’ve had a couple of rehearsals already, but be gentle. They’re thrilled that you’re here but also really nervous. Way more nervous than they are when it’s just me.”

“Of course. I’m here to help, not to judge.” Harry crosses his foot over his knee and leans back seductively in his seat, sizing Louis up. “You look really sexy up there.”

Harry wouldn’t be the first lover of Louis’ to harbor a teacher/student fantasy, but no one else had hinted at it in his very own classroom, eyes hungrily roving over Louis’ conservatively dressed curves just moments before his real class would stampede in to claim their seats.

“Easy, Mr. Styles,” Louis cautions, certainly  _ not _ arching his back on purpose as he reaches up to erase that formal name and replace it with “Harry.” “You’re about to be hit by a cloud of Axe and Victoria’s Secret body spray. That ought to cool your jets.”

“When I heard what you were doing now, it made so much sense to me – that the Louis who made me feel so right here would be doing that for other kids,” Harry gets up and starts to slowly make his way around the room, admiring Louis' show cards, cast photos, and posters where they’re tacked onto the walls. “Being a teenager is weird and awful and you really never know what’s going to save you. It’s like...I feel better about the future knowing that people like you are out there.”

Louis is struck dumb. He gets the general platitudes a lot – patronizing thank yous and toothless declarations about how teachers should be paid more than pro sports players. Much more moving are the personal comments from kids and their parents about the impact of his classes. Those are the ones he memorizes and recites to himself whenever the school board threatens to slash his budget again. 

He’s not sure why Harry’s admiration stops his hand exactly where it is in midair. He doesn’t know why it renews his own pride in a job he already loves. If he were to delve into it now, the answer he discovered probably wouldn’t shock him. But the bell is ringing and there’s no time. 

Harry turns to look at him when it sounds. They hold each other’s gaze silently as footsteps and laughter ring out all around them. Louis charts the serious set of his brow, and the pale, pale green of his eyes today. This talented, gorgeous,  _ giving  _ man was always waiting inside the goofy, open kid Louis once hung around with. As irritated as he once was by that progression, never once was Louis surprised. And now it seems that Harry might have seen him just as clearly.

The bell should have stopped a minute ago, but Louis swears he can still hear it.

The spell is broken by Curtis, Jane, and Landon arriving in their usual pack formation. 

“Oh shit,” Jane says quietly, coloring at Louis'  _ tsk.  _

“You’re really here,” Landon wonders, walking a few steps past where Jane had halted in her tracks.

“Thanks for having me,” Harry says warmly, reaching out to shake the boy’s hand. 

It starts a trend. Harry greets each student with a hello and a handshake, exchanging names as if they were all just normal strangers meeting at a party. It takes them beyond the bell that’s meant to start class, but Louis doesn’t have the heart to interrupt the ritual. There isn’t a smile in the room that’s not ear-to-ear. He chuckles to himself when he sees that Shannon’s worn her Captain America shield shirt today, though he makes a mental note to put a stop to it if she tries to get Harry to sign it. They  _ will  _ get through this period without inciting any parental complaints.

“Alright, alright,  _ alright!” _ Louis raises his voice to calm the chaos. “Take your seats, please. We’ve got a lot of monologues to get through today and we don’t want to waste our special guest’s time. Harry, do you want to introduce yourself?” 

Louis hadn’t warned Harry that he’d be providing his own intro. He shoots him a half grin and then quickly stifles it, suddenly aware of the 15 pairs of cunning, perceptive eyes on them.

Oh, well. It wouldn’t be the worst rumor about a teacher to ever go around the school.

“Oh, um. Sure.” Harry comes to stand in the front of the room, unbothered by being the laser focus of an over-achieving group of theatrical teens. “Hello again, everyone. ‘m Harry Styles. I used to go here. Graduated Class of ‘99. I sat right where you are and performed out there on that same stage. I didn’t know when I was your age how lucky I would be. I had no idea I’d get the chance to do so many cool things, like the Avengers movies or the other ones I’ve done. All I knew was that I loved acting and learning about acting and being around other actors. I’m the last person to tell you not to dream big, but trust me, you’ll get so much more out of learning the craft and learning how to be there for each other than you will any big job.”

He pauses and glances around, making eye contact with a few eager students.

“Your teacher Mr. Tomlinson is one of the best actors I’ve ever worked with, and he tells me that you’re all really talented, so I’m very excited to see you perform today.”

Louis catches Curtis and Jane share a wide-eyed glance and quickly swallows his heart back out of his throat.

“Erm, thank you, Harry.” Indicating a small bowl on his desk, he continues, “To speed things up, I’m picking names to determine the order you’ll go in. You’ll perform your monologue, Harry will give you some feedback, and you’ll have the chance to ask questions about that feedback. Remember that you’re not being graded on anything today; Harry’s just here to give you the benefit of his professional opinion. This is the same safe space it’s always been. So take a deep breath and let go of those expectations, yeah? We always do better work when we do.”

Instead of moving the chair by Louis' desk, Harry takes a vacant seat in the front row near the windows, and it’s yet another sight Louis should have prepared himself for. Some of the kids giggle at the visual, which is fair, since Harry hardly fits in the thing. But if Louis squints, he can almost make out awkward limbs and a pair of navy track pants.

He shoves his hand into the bowl and Harry winks at him. Louis almost can’t read the name on the slip after he accidentally crushes it in his fist. 

“Layla, you’re up first.”

Her classmates whoop as she makes her way from her seat to the front of the room. Louis gives her a nod and a smile when he sees that Layla – a born character actress – hasn’t brought anything up with her. 

He couldn’t have planned the order better himself. Being a natural comic, Layla prepared a monologue from the show  _ Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.  _ Louis settles into his desk chair, confident that her performance will set a positive tone for the day and ease some of that nervous tension.

She nails it, feeding off the presence of someone they all desperately want to impress. (Louis is long past caring that this isn’t him anymore – not after the first week, at least.) She gets laughs where she should get laughs, while also delivering the shadow of gloom the piece requires. Layla meets her applause with a small curtsey, then looks expectantly to Harry. 

Louis had been so focused on willing success on his first kid that he hadn’t noticed Harry pull out a small notebook and pencil, onto which he’s made notes.

_ I love him. _

Louis shakes off the thought, swiftly and ruthlessly. It’s an emotional day. He’s always a mess when it comes to his seniors and it can manifest itself in strange ways. 

Anyway, everyone else in the room is probably thinking the same thing. That’s why Harry is who he is. He inspires that feeling.

It doesn’t mean anything. It just sells t-shirts.

Before offering any kind of critique, Harry heaps praise on Layla, commenting on the same choices Louis would have. Then he gives her some helpful thoughts to work with: a suggestion to pause for comic effect between a certain two lines and to underplay one section she’s currently working a little too hard. Layla drops back into her seat looking incredibly pleased with herself, and they’re off.

Harry is the perfect audience – engaged and ready to be entertained, but informed enough to give the already practiced monologues an edge that’ll tip them into greatness. He speaks to the kids as equals and never brings himself into the conversation. 

But it isn’t until Curtis freezes up on his first line that Louis knows that those three intrusive words weren’t just an errant thought.

“Take your time, Curtis,” Harry says calmly, unfazed by the teen’s evident mortification. “Look at me. Look at me, I’m right here.”

Curtis raises his red face from the floor and meets Harry’s eyes. 

“Breathe,” Harry says, extending his own exhale. “And be yourself.”

_ I love him,  _ Louis thinks.  _ And he’s going to leave. _

*****

Going into his senior year musical, Louis had wondered if it would feel as final as it was. But for the most part, it was remarkably the same. Mr. Higgins’ face was still comically stoic behind the piano as they rolled through song after song. The tech kids had already had personalized t-shirts made up by the time rehearsals started. The choreography was still a complete mess until it wasn’t, this time with more leaping.

The difference was that Louis barely noticed any of it.

Jade and Jesy decided that he was jealous.

“Look at him,” Jesy (appropriately) stage-whispered one day as Louis stretched out on the auditorium floor to watch Corden work one-on-one with Harry on a particularly tough phrase. “He’s thinking, ‘I could do it better. Put me in, coach, just give me a chance!’”

“Or he’s plotting a Tonya Harding,” Jesy snorted.

If that was the assumption, so be it. Louis could wear the petty label. Hell, in some ways, he probably earned it. He wasn’t about to argue the reality of the situation, which was the intense pride he felt seeing Harry put himself out there, coupled with the misery of him being so untouchable. 

Only someone who observed him as much as Louis did could spot the fear in the tense muscles of Harry’s upper back and the way he held his hands. His face betrayed none of it, his pursed lips and knitted brow shifting into a tentative grin as he tried the bars again, earning a compliment from Corden.

Harry’s Maria, a girl named Emily who maintained a professional aloofness more suited to a Broadway stage door than a high school, looked over from the opposite side of the stage where she ran lines with a friend, and smiled. Not a patronizing smile or a tight one, but one that actually made her seem like she considered herself one of them for once.

Harry didn’t seem to notice, but Louis could see it all. The future.

Soon, he and Emily would meet up to run lines over the weekend. Harry would “yes, ma’am” her mom and drink her homemade iced tea. 

The gossip would start when they began leaving rehearsals together and the scenes where they declare their undying teenage love for each other became more urgent and real. 

People would ask Louis in the halls what he knows – whether Harry had been the reason Emily had finally cut the lacrosse player from two districts over loose.

And so on. The rest was too depressing to think about just then, when they were trying to put on a tragedy of their own.

Louis took his time gathering his things after Corden officially released them, avoiding the minor stampede out into the sunshine. He was the last kid to leave the auditorium, giving one last wave to the director and Higgins on his way through the doors. 

Twirling his keys on his index finger and already contemplating the evening of wallowing ahead of him, Louis was surprised to find that not everyone had gone.

Harry stood out on the sidewalk, rocking on his heels and stuffing his hands into his pockets against the cold.

“Harry?” Louis asked unnecessarily, noting that it hadn’t taken long in the leading role for Harry to swap his usual uniform of track pants for a nice pair of jeans. “Waiting for a ride?”

Harry whirled around, his expression sheepish and lips extra pink in the wind.

“Oh. Hey,” he said, looking down at his cell phone. “Our neighbor was supposed to, but he got caught at work.” 

“And you thought you wait out here and freeze to death?” Feeling brave and lonely, Louis didn’t stop until he was right in front of Harry, flushed and more radiant than anything should look under a gloomy February sky. “We’re not doing  _ Les Mis _ , Curly, it wouldn’t even be right.”

“ True,” Harry grinned down at him. Louis wondered where Emily had run off to so quickly. “Gem – my sister – took one of the cars to college this year, and mom needs the other one, so…”

“Come on,” Louis interrupted, tipping his head to the side.

“You don’t have to – it’s really okay, he’s on his way.”

“So call him and tell him to turn around. It’s fucking freezing out here, I’m not leaving you,” Louis reasoned. “If you die, I’ll have to play Tony and that’ll be really annoying, because Riff’s clearly the better character.”

Harry leaned forward to look out into the parking lot, his chest almost grazing Louis'. Louis got a whiff of his breath, minty with gum, and immediately regretted his offer.

Seemingly satisfied by what he saw – nothing – Harry vacated Louis' personal space, but only to set something in motion that would put a bittersweet glaze on the rest of his senior year.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Lou.”

Harry trailed Louis on the way to the car, making the call to tell his neighbor not to come.

“Sweet ride,” he said as he flipped his phone shut. Louis studied his face, but there wasn’t any mocking in it at all. Harry’s eyes were wide and appreciative, his dimple on full display.

“This old thing?” Louis preened, exaggeratedly.

Old was the key word. He’d purchased his secondhand – or maybe thirdhand – hatchback at such a bargain that his mother had been convinced it was made out of paperclips and rubber bands. It passed inspection that first day, however, and hadn’t let Louis down since. He’d yet to find someone who loved her as much as he did, which is why the way Harry’s gaze swept over her body made his insides tingly.

Louis dropped into the driver’s seat, then smiled up at Harry through the window as he reached over to the passenger side and unlocked the door from the inside. But panic started to build when Harry’s door shut too, sealing them in alone.

What torture, that it could only get worse. Louis couldn’t see an escape hatch out of this trap he built for himself. Nothing would relieve him. If Harry dropped out of his life forever, Louis would just fixate on missing him. If they continued on as they were, he’d just find new quirks and traits that made Harry the best and weirdest person he’d ever met. Even if he kissed him – Louis cleared his throat, hoping it was discreet – even if Harry leaned across the console and kissed his lips right now, Louis wouldn’t be free. Because he wouldn’t be  _ free. _

_ There's a place for us _

_ Somewhere a place for us _

Then Louis turned the key in the ignition, Harry found Smash Mouth on the radio, and a new tradition was born. Louis drove Harry home after rehearsals, both of them singing terrible Top 40 at the top of their lungs. That’s when the pain Louis harbored receded into a dull ache – one that was just happy to have a friend who could make him feel so much.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s all the kids can talk about for the next two periods. Harry’s laugh. Harry’s arms. Harry’s  _ hair.  _ They debate his favorite of their performances, even though Harry was too courteous to show any preference at all. 

Louis had been careful not to refer to his visit as a treat or a perk. He wanted his students to take it seriously and see Harry’s feedback as part of their creative process – not a meet-and-greet. 

He needn’t have worried so much. And he didn’t begrudge them their excitement. Because the kids also took Harry’s comments to heart, each one of them improving and gaining a little extra sliver of confidence.

Thankfully, they seemed satisfied overall that he and Harry were old school friends, though a smirk or two told Louis that not all of them believed that there wasn’t more to that story. 

So. Let them wonder. Teenagers aren’t the only people in the world with eventful love lives, and they should be reminded of that once in a while.

How much things had changed over the last few weeks. Louis no longer worried about protecting Harry’s image or tamping down gossip. Harry seemed to have that all in hand, and his own nonchalance about the whole thing had finally convinced Louis that it wasn’t his problem, if it was even a problem at all.

Unfortunately, that made room for other anxieties – starting with the fact that Louis was definitely in love with Harry.

Once he accepted it – once it yelled at him from underneath his window and woke him up in the middle of the night and made him keep pouring his coffee until after the mug was overflowing – Louis was left with the same sinking feeling he remembered from when he was 18 and hiding and crazy about someone who was impossibly unattainable.

Only two of those three things aren’t true anymore.

Louis had had so many opportunities to put on the brakes. Hell, he shouldn’t have even gotten into the car. A one night stand with the one who’d gotten away was never going to be the harmless fun Louis had told himself it would be when Harry accidentally-on-purpose brushed his hand across Louis' ass as they stood in the Holiday Inn parking lot, waiting for the Uber they were supposedly “sharing.” His emotions were already involved, lying dormant and impassioned. Louis would have been screwed even if Harry hadn’t invited himself into his life afterwards. 

See, he has this way of pining without even realizing he’s doing it.

And now he’s painted into a corner he should have never even been  _ close  _ to.

Harry could love him back. It’s possible, if pretty unlikely and  _ very  _ unexpected. 

But so the hell what? What kind of life would Louis have to look forward to? They’d continue as they are for the next two months until Harry left him, forcing Louis to resort to paging through red carpet photos and Instagram stories to be close to him. There’d be a few visits – more of Harry coming to him, unless he were willing to purchase Louis' plane tickets. But phone calls and FaceTime would be the most of it, and almost every night, Louis would still go to bed alone. 

Eventually the distance would get to them, not to mention the vast difference between their lifestyles.

The worst thing is that there’d be nothing dramatic about it. They would fizzle out, probably breaking it off for good when they were 3,000 miles apart. And Louis would be expected to get over it like he would any other relationship. 

The more probable reality, however, was that Louis had broken the rules by falling for Harry, who hadn’t expected another tether to a place he left behind long ago. It’s why he was keeping Louis at arm’s length – their interactions PG-13. 

But Louis was still incapable of saying no to him, even when he knew he was only digging himself a hole that would be harder and harder to climb out of when this was all over.

That’s how he finds himself sitting next to Harry in his mom’s car, watching the neon lights of the town’s iconic curb service diner dance across Harry’s face, the smell of grilling meat and fry oil seeping into their clothes.

“This is their busiest night,” Louis says. “It’s going to be a while.”

Harry fiddles with the radio, choosing the adult contemporary station. A Faith Hill ballad starts to play softly.

“You’ve got somewhere to be?” he teases.

Of course not. But he should.

He should be sprawled out on his couch in his threadbare boxers, hours deep into a  _ CSI  _ marathon. Or at a moderately priced restaurant, sitting across from a perfectly nice but bland accountant on a blind date that will lead to three acceptable months and not a second more. 

Instead, he’s watching Harry sign one of the diner’s ‘50s-esque visors for their waitress, who couldn’t be more than five years younger than them but is as starstruck as Louis' students were. She whispers a thank you and a promise to be “normal” from now on. Harry winks at her, and she nearly loses her balance, only narrowly avoiding a messy parking lot spill.

“You can’t do that to people on roller skates, superstar,” Louis observes, and it comes off grumpier than he intended.

Harry shrugs and takes a smug sip of his strawberry milkshake, widening his eyes innocently.

Louis’ sexual frustration has pulled him so tight, he has to look away from where Harry’s lips wrap around the straw. 

He doesn’t mean to glance into the next car, but he can’t help it. The woman in the driver’s seat catches his eye before Louis can pretend to have been searching for the moon or an employee and gives him a sympathetic smile. For one brief, crazy moment, he wonders how she knows – what in his body language betrays that he’s in over his head? Then a small child climbs into her lap and smears her top with ketchup-y hands, and Louis realizes she wasn’t thinking about him at all.

“Hey,” Harry nudges gently. “You okay?”

Louis starts, his eyes coming to rest on Harry’s face – handsomely scrunchy when he’s concerned. 

“Fine,” he says, not quite able to feel guilty for his attitude tonight. “Yeah, fine. Just hungry, I guess.”

They’re interrupted by a polite rap on Harry’s window that makes them both jump in their seats. Their waitress is back, holding a tray with a burger and fries. Another woman – with an equally toothy smile – stands at Louis' side of the car with his food. 

Harry looks almost apologetic, even though it’s certainly his clout that got them their dinner ahead of at least half a dozen waiting cars. He and Louis lower their windows simultaneously, and the waitresses clip their trays into position. Faith is drowned out by the sound of rustling wrappers, other car radios, and laughter from nearby vehicles. 

For a minute or so, they eat in that noisy silence. Even his favorite fries – with just the right crispy-to-chewy ratio – can’t distract Louis from the suffocating tension that’s crept into their car.

It’s not just in his head, either. Harry can feel it too. He’s quieter than usual, stealing worried looks at Louis between bites of his double cheeseburger.

Louis isn’t sure how to tell Harry that it’s his own fault. That he’s the one who opened the door to it.

Once should have been enough to teach him that falling like this is a mistake. It’s something he frequently imparts to his kids, anyway: messing up isn’t only inevitable, it’s also educational. Every fuckup is an opportunity to learn...as long as you take it. Otherwise, it’s worthless.

Because when you don’t, you’re liable to fuck it up again, in the same way. Maybe worse.

“Something happen at school?” Harry breaks their stalemate. “Bad day?”

“No, it was all good.” Louis forces a false smile. “The seniors especially, progressing really well. They’re in a great place for the end of the year.”

“They’re a really talented group,” Harry says, all sincerity. “Thank you. For letting me hang out with them.”

“Mmm,” Louis hums around a mouthful of cheese, burger, and bun. He doesn’t mean for it to be a dismissive sound, but Harry furrows his brow anyway.

“It just seems – and I’m sorry if I’m...it just feels like something’s wrong,” Harry tries. He tentatively reaches across the middle of the car, wielding his napkin, as if he’s convinced Louis is going to bite. Louis freezes and watches him come closer. Harry bites the corner of his lip and dabs gently at Louis' chin.

“Mustard,” he announces, somewhat sadly, holding up the yellow-stained paper as proof.

“Thanks,” Louis whispers.

“I don’t want to pry, but you seem upset,” Harry continues, getting back to the point. “Is it me? Did I do something? You can tell me, Lou. If I did something, I want to know.”

Where to even start? 

_ You forced your way back into my life after I’d finally gotten over you. You act like we could be together, for real. You fit in with my friends and my job so effortlessly, it was like you never left. You aren’t the celebrity anyone expects you to be. You make me wonder whether it’s even possible for me to be happy with anyone else. _

_ You transferred to my school junior year and tried out for the play. _

“It’s not you, Harry,” Louis sighs. 

Because it isn’t. Most people in Louis’ situation would have remembered that people like Harry only have so many promises they can make. They would have enjoyed things as they came and kept their hearts in check. They would have protected themselves.

“I’m sorry that you’re sad,” Harry says, as if it’s the most uncomplicated thing in the world. “Please tell me how I can help.”

Unfortunately, “stay here forever” doesn’t seem like a reasonable request.

“It’s just a funk,” Louis says, as casually as he can. “Weird mood. It’ll pass.”

The cars on either side of them have their windows rolled tightly up, but Louis still feels exposed. It occurs to him that he’d feel the same even if they were completely alone, without another soul in screaming distance.

Harry eyes him skeptically, but changes the subject anyway, telling Louis a funny story about Rose, Jackson, and a set of permanent markers. It’s an attempt to distract him, but all it does is make Louis’ heart hurt.

Their waitress comes back one last time to run Harry’s credit card and take their trays. 

The commercial block ends just as Harry closes their windows again, so the opening notes of “Your Body Is a Wonderland” come through aggressively clearly.

“Everyone can suck it,” Harry declares, turning up the volume. “I love this song.” 

Early John Mayer has a certain appeal, Louis can admit. But his presence in this moment feels like an attack.

“We’ve got the afternoon,” Harry croons, screwing his eyes shut and overdoing it on purpose. “You’ve got this room for two. One thing I’ve left to do: discover me, discovering youuu.”

Neither John nor Harry seem to notice that Louis isn’t singing along with them. The irony of this ode to physical exploration interrupting his snit – which, he has to be honest, is at least half horniess – is too great.

“And if you want love,” Harry continues, trying to perform the frown off of Louis' face, “we’ll make it. Swim in a deep sea of blankets. Take all your big plans an–”

Harry clams up mid-lyric when Louis shuts the radio off completely. The action didn’t rate a second’s forethought, so Louis stares at his own fingers where they hover near the dial.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid,” Harry says sheepishly, after a beat. “You’re not feeling well. I’ll just drop you home so you can get some rest.”

“Why won’t you fuck me?”

Like the thing with the radio, it’s completely unplanned.

“What?” 

Louis licks his lips and sits up tall. He wants to fall through the bottom of the car to hide between it and the pavement, but he keeps Niall’s words in mind.

He gets to ask for what he needs.

“We haven’t had sex since you’ve been back,” Louis murmurs, studying the shape of the glove box where it’s recessed into the body of the car. Harry’s shoulders are turned completely towards him, perpendicular to the windshield, so it’s all he can manage.

“I know you said you wanted to take things slow now, but, Christ, Harry. We’re almost 40.” He looks at Harry now, annoyed to find his mouth open in shock, one corner of his mouth turned up into an incredulous almost-smile. “How slow do you want to go?”

“Lou, I–”

“I don’t want you to think that that’s all I care about,” Louis barrels ahead. “You’re–” He catches on this bit. “– _ really _ important to me. But it’s, like, a personal thing? I want to feel  _ close  _ to the person I’m...you know…”

“Dating,” Harry finishes for him, his tone unbearably low.

“Right.” Louis breathes, staring down at his lap where his hands are clenched lightly into fists. “So, I don’t want to push you. Like, at all. I never would. But I need to know if there’s some other reason.”

“Reason for what?”

His gaze flicks back up to Harry’s eyes, hoping to catch the truth. “Why you don’t want to sleep with me.”

Harry’s face contorts so strangely that Louis braces himself for a confession. Just when Louis starts to consider that maybe he has to sneeze instead, Harry breaks out into infuriating peels of laughter. For some reason, it enrages Louis more than anything else the muscle-bound idiot has done so far. And it must show in his expression and in his now-tight fists, because Harry blanches and quickly tries to compose himself.

“Louis, I’m sorry. I’m  _ so _ sorry. I don’t know why I laughed, I just...you have no idea how ridiculous that sounds to me. I really fucked this up, that you would even think…”

“I’m putting myself out there, here,” Louis grumbles.

Harry sighs heavily and runs one hand through his hair, tugging on the curls on the way down.

“I know, and I respect that. I never meant to make an assumption about what you want. That isn’t fair.”

Louis feels Harry take a hold of his left hand.

“But dating you, Lou, I used to  _ dream  _ about it. And I got it in my head that it would be even better now, if we could just rewind things. Keep the brain-melting sex off the table for a while.” He chuckles, almost to himself, and Louis wonders which part, exactly, he’s remembering. “But it was a stupid idea,” Harry continues. “Something out of a...bad sex comedy.”

“Starring Dane Cook,” Louis suggests.

“Or Rebel Wilson.”

“ Ouch .”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Louis' anger burning off into the sky above them.

“I’m too dramatic for my own good,” Harry says finally, swiping his thumb over the soft skin of the back of Louis' hand.

“Maybe,” Louis smirks, “but you’re also a romantic. And that’s more than I can say about most men I’ve met in Boston and the surrounding areas.”

Harry smiles lazilly, cautiously pleased.

“Wanna get out of here?”

“And go where?”

The car purrs to life around them, and Louis can’t help but admire Harry’s long fingers curling around the wheel. 

“Just bear with me, I have an idea.”

The diner is a gash of neon in a pocket of nowhere, so it’s not even a full minute of driving before the dark falls back over them. It’s a warm and close night, previewing a cloudy day ahead. The stars are barely out, so it’s up to the county road’s few street lamps to give Louis some material to work with. Every time they sail under one, he glances over at Harry, who keeps his eyes firmly on the road. There are few clues in his profile – the square hinge of his jaw, his perfectly straight nose. It’s the way Harry avoids his eyes that draws goosebumps out of Louis' forearms and raises his heart rate.

They aren’t driving towards either of their homes, and the town’s one decent B&B is three or so miles in the opposite direction. Even the Holiday Inn is behind them.

“If you wanted to run away together,” Louis jokes, “all you had to do was ask.”

Harry lets the sentence hang there, which Louis reckons should be a punishable offense. Then, suddenly, Harry takes a right, underneath a small overpass and up a steep hill.

All they’ll find up here is hiking trails. If Louis hadn’t known Harry for more than 20 years, now would be about the time he’d start fearing for his life. 

“You know I’m best friends with a cop, right?” he says, his trying-too-hard voice ringing out unpleasantly. “He’ll avenge me.”

Harry actually huffs a laugh at this one, just as he slows the car to a crawl. Louis peers out of the window, surprised at first that the sky around them has brightened. But of course it did – they’re at the top of a small peak, overlooking the world below.

That it takes him so embarrassingly long to figure out where they are reminds Louis that he wasn’t exactly a frequent visitor to this place when it was cool to come here. From the looks of it, it’s not trendy anymore. 

Still. Quaint, isn’t it? Every small town should have a makeout spot.

Harry puts the car into park and yanks up the parking brake with an intrusive click. Louis hitches in a breath and holds it as Harry turns off the ignition, leaving the power on inside the car. He tracks his movement when Harry flicks the radio back on, the music quiet but present.

“Did you ever…?” Louis trails off softly.

Harry un-buckles his seatbelt.

“Once or twice.” Anticipating Louis' barely concealed grimace, he continues: “Not my idea. If it were, I would have come with this cute theater boy.” He uses his upper body strength to lift himself up off of his seat, then gingerly swings his left leg over the arm rest between them. 

Louis can’t take his eyes off of the maneuver, even though he already knows it will never work.

“Oh yeah?” Louis takes off his belt too, scooching comfortably back into his seat. “What was so great about him?”

He bites his lip, and Louis can’t tell if it’s the physical effort or if Harry’s genuinely thinking.

“He was loud,” he says finally. An empty water bottle flings down into the space at Louis' feet as Harry successfully – halfway – clears the obstacle.

“ _ Loud?!”  _ Louis scoffs. “Is that all you remember?”

The top of Harry’s head skims the roof of the tiny Kia as he awkwardly straddles the center console. He could have just gone out and around, but Louis would rather be abandoned in this park for the night than mention it.

“That’s what stands out the most, yeah.”

The other leg follows as Harry leans as far as he can to the left, his knee pressing into Louis’. Louis has been anticipating the weight of him for so long that it almost makes him sigh with satisfaction when Harry drops gracelessly into his lap.

“I guess there was other stuff too,” Harry whispers, his eyes a saturated, leafy green tonight. “He had great ideas and was really confident about them. People always wanted to be around him, he was just...magnetic like that.”

Louis slides his hands up Harry’s body to take hold of his narrow hips. Harry rocks down onto him once and Louis catches his own lip between his teeth.

“Anything else?” he asks on an exhale.

“Yeah.” Harry looms over Louis and tips his head back with a fingertip to his chin. “He was the finest piece of 17-year-old ass my 17-year-old ass had ever seen.”

With that, he slots their lips together, breathing Louis in almost reverently. 

If Louis were still a teenager, he probably wouldn’t have the wherewithal to kiss Harry while also worrying about how much strain his joints are taking. The front seat isn’t big enough for him to bracket Louis in with his legs, so Harry has one knee braced on the hard center console. 

It has to be painful, but Louis makes the game-time decision to let Harry himself decide when it’s too much. In the meantime, he’ll grant him entrance when Harry teases the seam of his lips with his tongue. He’ll knead the muscles of his ass – a nationally recognized treasure, but Louis would fight anyone else who claims they’re its biggest fan – when Harry lifts up to grind into him again.

It’s overwhelming, the way the solid mass of Harry traps Louis against the seat. The edges of his thoughts begin to blur as he realizes just how at Harry’s mercy he really is when they’re chest to chest and all Louis can really do is touch the parts he can reach: Harry’s shoulder blades, the strong C-curve of his lower back, the dips where his ass meets his thighs. 

Harry takes advantage of his relatively greater range of motion, pulling away from Louis' mouth to mark up his neck and the underside of his jaw. While he’s distracted, Louis snakes an arm between their bodies and presses his palm against the bulge in Harry’s jeans.

Then there’s an unnatural noise – like a kneecap slamming into hard plastic – and Harry jolts back from the site of a love bite in progress.

“Fuck,” he barks, following it up with a little hiss of pain. “Back seat. C’mon.”

Harry searches for the door handle and staggers off of Louis’ lap and out of the car once he finds it. Louis would say he’s secure in himself on a good day, but Harry’s urgency is validating and he smiles to himself accordingly as he peels himself from the upholstery and gets to his feet. 

“Where’s the fire, baby?” he asks Harry, who’s holding the door to the backseat open and looks ready to jump out of his skin.

Harry rolls his eyes, then hauls him in by the front of his shirt and kisses him soundly, using his other hand to swing the driver’s side door shut. Louis tries like hell to keep their lips connected as he drops into the backseat, but one bump of his head to the doorframe and that dream dies. 

But the thing is, before Harry’s return, Louis had thought that reckless love was behind him. He’d go on respectable dates at normal times, kiss behind closed doors, and make love in bed – after setting the programmable coffee maker and before his nightly skincare ritual. Because that’s what adults do – especially the ones who live in sleepy towns.

They certainly don’t grope each other like hormonal teenagers in cars that are decidedly too small for that purpose.

Well, why not? Louis wonders. It certainly has its appeal.

Harry crawls in after him, stalking – as much as it’s possible to do so in the backseat of a Kia – on all fours and gesturing for Louis to back up against the window. He vaguely resisters a persistent guitar and Adele’s soulful voice coming from the radio, underscoring Harry’s no longer hurried journey over Louis' lower body: now at his knees, now at his thighs, now their hips flush together — the pressure simultaneously a relief and a ruthless tease.

Like thunder rolling in on a humid summer night, Louis distantly realizes that Harry must have fucked famous people – people he’s heard of, maybe even likes. Harry impatiently pushes Louis’ t-shirt up to his armpits and Louis wonders, without judgment, how that all works. Are publicists involved? Or do you just meet someone and pile into a stall in the Kodak Theater men’s room?

Whatever that looks like, he smugly concludes, it wasn’t enough for Harry. One shameful corner of his mind still clings to the belief that he was just an incomplete conquest. An oat to sow. But right now, that thought just exists. It doesn’t needle at him – not when Harry’s fingertips and eyes are trailing down his chest and his erection is heavy against Louis' inner thigh.

“You’re thinking,” Harry mumbles against his neck. “I can feel it.”

“It’s a filthy habit.” Louis tugs up on the back of Harry’s shirt until he obliges him and strips it off. “I’m trying to quit.”

“‘S a good line. Might steal it.” Harry goes to work on his collarbones, running his tongue over the hollows and nudging his nose against Louis' neck.

“It’s a terrible line.” Louis drops his head back against the window. “But it’s all yours if you want it, superstar.”

_ All yours. _

He wants to let Harry pull him down into that space where nothing matters but lips dragging across the hollow of his throat and heat shooting up his spine. He wants a lot of things.

“Harry?” Louis doesn’t think before speaking again. His voice sounds off in his own head – too grave for the moment. Harry stills and looks questioningly up at him through his eyelashes.

“I just need to know,” Louis murmurs, delicately moving a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear so he can look for the truth, “if you’re with me right now.”

“Don’t tell me this is a dream,” Harry answers, his smile turning wide and goofy. But Louis won’t be disarmed.

“Please don’t...don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry schools his expression. “I’m not. Okay, I was, but I can’t help it. Louis, I’ve been  _ throwing  _ myself at you. How could you think–?”

“I get that you want this. But I need to know that you’re here with  _ me.  _ Now. Because sometimes, Harry? Sometimes I feel like it’s the idea of me that you’re actually into. ‘Unfinished business,’ that’s what you called it at the reunion, isn’t it?”

Louis watches Harry carefully as he draws back, pulling his knees underneath him and sitting up almost completely straight. For a few excruciating seconds, Louis imagines that Harry’s about to tell him that he’s right, deposit Louis back at his home with a hug and a handshake, then get on the next flight to Los Angeles.

Time ekes to a crawl when Harry’s hand starts to move through space. He stares into Louis’ eyes without flinching, then reaches down to Louis’ waistband and pops the button of his fly – as slowly as a button has ever been popped.

Fine, call his bluff.

“I can’t do it, Lou,” his deep, smokey voice going straight to Louis' cock, regardless of the words he’s saying. “I can’t separate the you I knew from the you you are now. In all the best ways, you’re exactly how I remember you. And you’re different in ways I could have never expected.”

He drags his zipper down so unhurriedly that Louis can hear each tang separate, giving him ample opportunity to say no. But why would he? It all rings true. He might as well be listening to himself describe his own feelings about Harry.

“You think all I wanted to do was fuck the guy I didn’t fuck in high school?” Harry continues, his warm palm hovering right above the triangle of black cotton it just exposed. “So? I did. In that scenario, why am I still here? I don’t know why you think you’re the vulnerable one, but Louis, I wake up everyday wanting you. Everything else is an afterthought. It’s really fucking irritating.”

Louis' cock throbs in his jeans, so impatient for touch that when Harry pulls away, he pouts.

“All of this is for you. All of it.” Harry sits up on his knees and goes to work on his own fly. “I can’t stop fantasizing about blowing you in your classroom. Though, sometimes you fuck me on your desk instead.”

“I forgot about how dirty your mouth gets when we do this,” Louis smirks. “Language.”

“Fuck off,” Harry states, pushing his jeans and underwear down and sending his thick cock bobbing up into his hand. He runs his thumb lightly over the head and sinks his teeth into his lip, which jolts Louis out of his shell shocked stillness. But when he moves to touch himself, Harry falls down into him, pushing Louis' hand out of the way. 

He captures Louis' lips in a fervent kiss at the same time that he reaches inside his jeans and boxers and grasps Louis' dick. It’s been a long time, so Louis forgives himself the gasp he lets out, momentarily separating their mouths. 

He loves that Harry loves to kiss – whether or not anything else is going on. Too many guys neglect the makeout once other body parts get involved, but not Harry. If anything, those other bits just make him more dedicated to getting it right. So it’s really the fault of Harry’s talented tongue that Louis doesn’t notice that Harry’s shimmied his pants down his body until Harry pushes their cocks together and wraps one hand around as much of them as he can.

“Oh,  _ shit,”  _ Louis exclaims.

With his other hand supporting his weight on the back of the seat, Harry doesn’t have one free.

“Back pocket,” he exhales, and Louis obeys. “Right. No, your right.”

Louis scrounges through the jeans hanging halfway off of Harry and finds what he’s looking for: a tiny packet of lube.

“Thought you wanted to take it slow?” he teases.

“I’ll show you slow,” Harry counters, and Louis' stomach dips. Then, he tips his chin upwards, prompting Louis to tear the plastic open.

Louis drizzles the gel over their cocks and Harry’s hand, and his strokes even out. After tossing the packet on the floor, Louis tries to contribute further, but Harry bats his hand away again.

True to his promise, Harry tightens his grip and pulls back on his pace, jacking them both off almost idly, like he wants it to last forever.

Louis feels a little helpless but figures that’s probably the point. To keep himself busy — and distract himself from the sensation – he crawls his fingers into Harry’s curls and gently tugs, earning a satisfying groan and another kiss. 

He’d privately called Harry a “mindfuck” before, and he is that. But he’s also a time warp. Tonight, under this starless sky, they’re both 38 and 17; experienced and scared; guarded and chaotic. Harry’s right: they can’t cleave their lives into two or let go of the people that they were just to make things easier. Less messy.

Tortured by the long, slow build, Louis makes little pleas to Harry to please, for the love of god,  _ more. _ Harry’s fist slides up and down faster, making obscene, wet sounds against the tender skin of their cocks. 

They come within seconds of each other and Louis really does feel it – what Harry was trying to prove to him.

But it’s still not a promise, and he’s not sure he’s ready to believe one anyway.

*****

Not without a fight, Harry wakes to his mother calling his name and rapping on his bedroom door.

He can count on one hand the times she’s disturbed him in the morning since he’s been home. His mother seems to believe that he’s operating at a considerable sleep debt, and she’ll be damned if she impedes him catching up to it. Normally, his body naturally wakes him up between eight and nine am, when he meets her in the kitchen for a pot of coffee and  _ Good Morning America.  _ They both need their daily dose of Robin Roberts.

Last night, however, he and Louis had stayed out in the park until almost one. When the clouds cleared out a bit, they migrated from being wrapped up in each other in the backseat to laying flat on their backs on the hood of the car, holding hands and drifting into a comfortable, peaceful silence. His skin tingled where his sweat met the cooling air and it made Harry feel present and alive. 

Right now? Not so much.

“Harry, sweetheart? You have a visitor.”

Groaning, Harry rolls to his side and glances at his old, digital alarm clock: 8:15. Scout raises his head from his position at the foot of the bed, looking put out.

“Tell me about it, buddy,” Harry murmurs.

Liam would surely call first. Louis, he’d only left six and a half hours ago, after their kiss goodnight turned into ten minutes of sucking face. 

“Who’s’it?” Harry grumbles, sweeping the sleep out of the corners of his eyes.

“It’s Zayn, dear. Weren’t you expecting him?”

Harry flops flat on his back and looks to the ceiling for answers, suddenly fully alert. He quickly cards through his memories of his last few communications with his agent: emails and texts that all amounted to Harry waving him off, in no mood to talk business or, really, even think about it.

“He’s  _ here?”  _

He could have misheard. Zayn could be back in West Hollywood, where he belongs. Harry didn’t even know he  _ did  _ the east, aside from New York, of course. He was aware that his agent hails from some place like Indiana – was it Indiana? – but Zayn Malik is LA through-and-through. He took to it in ways that Harry never did, so he leaned on Zayn hard those first few years, when nice jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt seemed, to him, to be perfectly acceptable premiere attire. Zayn showed him the ropes and never judged him  _ too  _ harshly, though Harry did sometimes feel like the Steve Carell to his Ryan Gosling. 

“In the kitchen. I made him a cup of coffee,” his mom says, ever helpful. “Should I tell him you’re coming down?”

The alternative being…?

“Uh. Sure.” 

Harry pushes himself half-upright, then swings his feet down to the floor. Head swimming, he grabs a clean-ish shirt from his desk chair and yanks it over his head. 

No, he’s sure. Zayn hadn’t given him a heads up that he was coming. Not even a  _ hint.  _ Bile starts to rise in the back of his throat as Harry considers the possibility that he may have overlooked a commitment. That perhaps Zayn was here to drag him back to the West Coast for some talk show appearance or exploratory meeting.

Pulling his jeans over his boxers, Harry shakes his head. There wasn’t anything he missed. Zayn’s assistant never neglected to send an email; every calendar invite Harry accepted had at least two reminders attached. Team Styles was a well-oiled machine. Zayn prided himself on it.

As he hits the top of the staircase, Scout reluctantly following behind, Harry can hear that his mother has gone to her room to give them some privacy. 

Missed appointment or not, Harry’s low-level panic persists. Zayn isn’t like a lot of the other agents his friends work with. He’s persistent, but he always gives it to Harry straight. Zayn doesn’t try to control or manipulate him, and Harry would hand-to-God swear that his agent – even with his own stake in Harry’s choices – ultimately has his clients’ own interests at heart. 

He’s a friend. A professional relationship, but a true friend too.

Still, he’s not welcome in this bubble.

This was supposed to be Harry’s time – to unwind, to unpack…to finally live and experience and  _ feel,  _ rather than be shuttled from interview to photocall to costume fitting. Just a few months, that’s all he’d asked for.

He was always going to come back when he was ready.

Wasn’t he?

Naturally, Zayn doesn’t look like someone who just stepped off a red-eye. Even from behind, Harry can see that his hair is slicked back flawlessly, his all-black ensemble impeccable. 

Harry, on the other hand,  _ really  _ needs to brush his teeth.

“Zayn,” he says, prompting the other man to turn. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Zayn rises from his chair as Harry draws nearer and heartily shakes his hand. Harry notes, with particular pleasure, that Anne gave him her World’s Greatest Grandma mug to drink out of.

Oddly, it suits him. Then again, what doesn’t?

“Harry, morning. How are you? Did I wake you?”

Scout greets Zayn with a few sniffs to his pant leg. Zayn bends to scratch his head, eyes still on Harry.

Harry opens his arms wide to display his rumpled outfit to its full potential. “Maybe.”

Zayn winces, vaguely apologetic.

“Your mom made coffee, if that helps.”

“It should,” Harry says, shuffling towards the cabinets. “Unless I need something stronger for this conversation.”

He pours coffee into his favorite mug – a chipped one touting the Museum of Science – processing Zayn’s relaxed demeanor as a good sign. That he hasn’t already gathered Harry up into a waiting Uber is a good one too.

His agent stays quiet while Harry fixes his cup, though Harry catches him surveying his mother’s shabby chic decor choices with a warm but bemused smile on his face…maybe a bit of nostalgia, too.

But his gaze settles when Harry sits down across from him with his steaming beverage. Not that Harry had ever imagined that this was a social call, but the casually determined look in Zayn’s chocolate-brown eyes confirms it.

“What are you doing here, man?”

Zayn smiles – small and almost embarrassed. 

“You owe me an answer.”

He lets it sink in for a moment, watching while the meaning of what he just said dawns on Harry.

“Wait. You flew across the country _ ,  _ just for that thing?”

“That  _ thing,  _ Harry, is a three-picture contract for a very hot property. The next  _ Hunger Games,  _ that’s what they’re calling it.”

“That’s what who’s calling it? The book jacket? The execs?”

“Everyone.” Zayn waves his hand, elegantly and loosely. “People.”

“People,” Harry repeats, his jaw tight. “Are these the same people who tried to pitch us  _ Divergent,  _ because we really dodged a bullet there.”

“Hey – you came back from Johnny Storm, didn’t you?”

A garbage truck rolls by outside. A  _ CBS Sunday Morning  _ segment about layering plays in the living room.

The thought of stepping into another dystopian universe right now – especially one in the center of Europe – makes Harry queasy. 

“I’m not ready,” he murmurs. “I’m not done, either. I just need time. And I don’t think this is right for me right now.”

“Harry, we’ve been over this,” Zayn sighs. “It’s a teen thing, so you’re basically making a glorified cameo. But they’re paying you like you’re the lead. It’s easy money and it keeps your profile up while you work on your passion projects.”

“Yeah?” Harry challenges. “And what’s the promotional commitment?”

Zayn glances down at his mug, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Not that Harry struggles, but you wouldn’t know that  _ he  _ was the celebrity, to see the two of them out together. Zayn’s beauty, poise, and style pulled as much attention as Harry’s broad shoulders and recognizable face. Not to take away from his smarts and skill, but Harry suspected that Zayn came out on top in many a negotiation simply because his bone structure is so beguiling.

Harry, on the other hand, has been immune to his charms – at least the physical ones – for years. If they met in a bar, maybe. But the moment Zayn became his agent, anything more than friendship was off the table.

So as far as Harry’s concerned, he can go bat those eyelashes at someone who cares.

“Domestic and international junket. New York, London, and LA premieres. Some other stops here and there. It’s standard studio, Harry. You know how this goes.”

“You’re right. I do. And I don’t want it.”

“But this opportunity–”

“Is just one, right?” Harry cuts him off. “It’s one franchise – if it’s any good  _ and  _ they’re lucky – with a relatively interesting character. But I’ve read it, and it’s exactly what people are going to expect from me. I want to  _ evolve _ , Zayn. I know  _ you _ know that I’m capable of doing more.”

“Of course, I never sa–”

“I really have considered it,” Harry continues. “I want you to know that. I thought about it from every angle, and if it made sense, I would say yes. But it’s not part of the plan. Not my plan, anyway.”

Zayn sips his coffee, sizing Harry up as he does. Harry tightens his jaw and puffs out his chest a bit, trying to look as confident and capable of making his own career decisions as he can with his current case of bedhead.

“Look,” his agent appeals again. “That script that you won’t let me read yet – which, by the way, is pretty fucked up.” Harry shrugs. “I’m sure it’s great. You’re a solid writer, you have good instincts. And you know what works. It’s not my intention to let anything get in the way of that or anything else you want to do. But your schedule is clear after that murder mystery thing wraps in the fall. It’s going to take time to shop the script around, line up the team that you want to work with. Why not take an easy gig in the meantime? If you show up for your fans, Harry, I _promise_ they’ll show up for you.”

A few rooms away, Harry’s mother slams the door of the washing machine and starts the cycle. 

“Can I fix you boys something to eat?” she calls in to them.

“I’m not sure if Zayn is staying,” Harry shouts back, without taking his eyes off of him. Then, quieter: “Are you? I hope you’re at least on your way to New York. What time’s your flight? Or are you taking the train?”

“This isn’t a pit stop, Harry.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re turning around and going back to LA.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nope, can’t do that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I thought I’d stick around Bedford for a while,” Zayn says lightly. “Get to know the place.”

“ _ Zayn, _ ” Harry whines, weakened by the dull ache sitting at the back of his skull. He should still be asleep. “I’m on vacation!”

“I thought you were working,” Zayn counters.

“Yeah, and there’s a reason I’m doing it here _._ LA’s full of really _annoying_ distractions.”

“I’m gonna try not to read anything rude into that.”

Harry gets up from the table to dump the dregs of his coffee into the sink. “Then you’re missing the point.”

“You’ll barely notice me. I’m just gonna hang out for a couple of days, get a sense of what you’re up to and what you want. Maybe I’ll change your mind about the series.”

Harry barks a humorless laugh, reaching for the last sample can of Scout’s food.

“Or maybe you’ll change  _ my _ mind. Because we’re usually on the same page about stuff, yeah?”

“I suppose.” Harry spoons the wet food into Scout’s bowl, the dog snuffling into it before he’s even finished.

“Almost always. So let’s figure this out.”

Harry weighs his options. He could nicely ask Zayn to leave his mother’s home, but he can’t kick him out of town entirely. So either he tries to avoid him or he lets him have his little experiment. It’s true; they have almost always agreed on the right moves for Harry’s career. So maybe this is like...actor/agent couples therapy. Maybe he can make Zayn realize that he’s not the same person he was a decade ago, when committing to a franchise meant he could make his rent for the next year. 

“You know I have a life here, right?”

“And I respect that,” Zayn say solemnly. “I got a room at the Holiday Inn; I would never impose on your family. And during the day, well. I’ll just do what you do.”

“You’re going to  _ shadow  _ me?” Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve got to warn you, you’re going to be pretty bored. No industry mixers in these parts. You won’t even run into a Kardashian at the grocery store.”

“If I never see another Kardashian again, I’ll be a happy man.” Zayn’s eyes flash. He knows he’s won. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

They take Anne up on her breakfast offer. She chats with Zayn and fixes scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon while Harry takes the hottest shower he can stand. He doesn’t speak much as they eat, a little stunned that he’s agreed to be stalked by an agent who’s supposed to be across the country right now, probably just getting home from a gala.

“That was delicious, Mrs. Styles,” Zayn says as he clears his plate.

“Please, love, call me Anne,” she beams. Harry’s only glad that Louis isn’t here to see the doting look on her face – the same one he gets when he comes around and Harry’s mother tries to push every available food and drink on him. His jealous pout, on the other hand, might be worth it.

At ten, Harry takes the car keys off of the hook in the kitchen and motions for Zayn to follow him into the garage.

“If we’re going to the vet, shouldn’t we be bringing your dog?”

“It’s not that kind of visit. Liam – that’s his doctor – has him on this special food. I have to pick up a case. They order it for us.”

Harry’s phone lights up in his hand. 

_ morning, superstar _

The text is followed by a sleepy selfie. Louis is obviously still in bed, the covers pulled up to his armpits. Harry smiles softly at his bangs flattened out to one side, the small patch of light brown hair on his chest. He looks content. Harry did that.

_ you are heartbreakingly beautiful,  _ he writes back.

He looks up from his phone to find Zayn peering at him, a shrewd smile on his face.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone.”

Harry folds himself into the driver’s seat, grateful that his strategy of leaving the windows open all night seemed to work. Otherwise, he would have had a hell of a time explaining away the aroma of fried food and sex.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Spare me. You just melted. You got a text and you melted.”

Harry turns the key in the ignition, and Zayn immediately starts fiddling with the radio. He must have been sleepwalking when he agreed to this.

“It’s someone here, isn’t it? Some hot soccer dad, who wears chinos and drinks Bud Light and fucks you in his 'man cave.'"

“You’re jetlagged. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“Bullshit. I’m right, as usual, and it explains everything. You don’t want to break up your little normcore fling. That’s why you’re still here.”

They’re ahead of the after-church traffic, so the Optima sails towards Liam’s office unimpeded. Harry glances into the rearview mirror and can almost picture himself straddling Louis in the backseat, stroking them both until they fell apart. Louis had panted and flushed so beautifully, and when they reached Louis' house, they sat in the driveway, reluctant to say goodnight even though they could barely keep their eyes open.

“It’s not a fling.”

“Of course, of course. Didn’t mean to offend.” Zayn doesn’t seem all that sorry, despite Harry’s stern look. “Are you gonna tell me who he is? Sorta seems like that should be included in our deal.”

“Not everything is a deal, Zayn. One thing at a time, how about that?”

They pull into the parking lot a couple of minutes later. Liam keeps a short day on Sunday that’s appreciated by his clients who can’t bring their pets in during regular work hours. The office park is fairly quiet besides a few cars in front of the vet’s office.

“You know, I could probably get my assistant to find a retailer who’d deliver directly to your mom’s house,” Zayn reasons, not so subtly brushing dog hair off his black slacks as they walk to the front door. 

“Thank you, but we’re all set.”

“Are you sure? It would save you the drive–”

“Zayn, I’m really not that worried about it,” Harry interrupts. “It’s just an errand. It’s nice to get out of the house. People do things for themselves around here. I like it.”

His agent mimes zipping his lips, then steps out of the way so that Harry can open the front door.

Liam’s out in front for once, having a very serious conversation with an elderly woman and her Himalyan cat. 

“So the drops are twice a day in the ears, Mrs. Carter. Morning and evening. And the pill is once a day with her breakfast.”

“Oh thank you, Dr. Payne,” the woman says, putting a frail, aged hand on his forearm. “I don’t know why I have so much trouble remembering.”

“Carol’s going to write the instructions up for you and you can put it on your refrigerator, how about that?” Liam continues, endlessly patient. “And if you ever get confused or want to double check, you can give us a call.”

“Do you hear that, Princess?” Mrs. Carter addresses the rather extravagant-looking cat as Liam hands her over. “We’re going to fix you right up.”

Liam gives Princess a scratch under the chin, then Mrs. Carter a kiss on the cheek.

“She’ll be good as new after a few days. And then we don’t want to see you back here for a long time, okay, Mrs. Carter? Unless you’re dropping off some more of those delicious banana muffins. We never say no to those.”

Harry sneaks a glance at Zayn, expecting some sardonic comment about Liam’s bedside manner. But he’s utterly silent, staring right at Liam with his mouth slightly ajar.

Fascinating.

Just at that moment, Carol comes in from the back. She winks at Harry, holds up one finger, then beckons Mrs. Carter to make sure she has everything she needs.

Liam ambles over to the two of them, it must be said, looking particularly handsome in the late morning light shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the waiting room. 

Zayn certainly seems to think so. Harry watches with amusement as he subtly checks Liam out, his eyes quickly scanning him from head to toe. 

Not that his friend needs a pristine lab coat to be fuckable in the eyes of almost everyone he meets, but it certainly completes the Hallmark movie picture.

“Morning, Harry,” Liam says, shaking Harry’s hand with gusto. His smile doesn’t falter, but Harry can sense his confusion at Zayn’s presence. 

“Liam, Dr. Payne, this is my agent, Zayn Malik. He’s passing through town and decided to stay for a few days.”

“Oh,” Liam valiantly offers, even though no one passes through Bedford on the way to anywhere. “Nice to have some more new blood around, though I guess Harry doesn’t really count.” He shakes Zayn’s hand a little more carefully, finally looking at him straight on.

And...yep, there it is. Liam swallows discreetly, taking in Zayn’s skin (flawless even when he skips his bi-monthly facial), smoldering gaze, and full lips. “Ho-how are you?”

Harry’s never once seen Zayn starstruck – not even when Meryl Streep cornered them at the Governor’s Ball to find out where they’d gotten their sliders. But in this waiting room, which smells faintly of wet dog, he’s proud of him when he manages to speak.

“So you and Harry, uh, grew up together?”

“Sort of. We actually didn’t meet until high school, when he moved here. But we’ve kept in contact. It’s been good to have him back home. And hey, nice of you to come visit.”

Zayn colors slightly at this, as if he really believed he was just here on a mission of friendship. Harry swallows a chuckle and continues cataloging every detail of this ludicrously charged interaction, so he can tell Louis all about it later.

“It’s...no problem. He’s a good guy.”

Liam claps Harry on the back. “That he is.” Zayn’s eyes track the movement.

“Mr. Styles?” Carol calls from the reception desk. “I’ve got Scout’s food right here.”

“It’s Harry, please,” he says, making his way over to collect the wide, flat box. “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” she says brightly. “How’s he feeling?”

“He’s a happy boy again, thanks to you two.”

“So, are you...do you just treat, like, cats and dogs?” he hears Zayn ask. Harry rolls his eyes. He might as well drop something on purpose only to slowly pick it up. 

Carol catches him, lifting her eyebrows in amused solidarity.

“They make up the majority of my patients, yeah.” Liam adjusts his stance, placing his hands on his hips in a way that either intentionally or subconsciously broadens his chest. “But there’s the odd hamster, guinea pig. Sometimes reptiles, though a lot of their issues require a specialist. I even examined a tarantula once.”

Zayn matches his smile, offering up an unironic “Cool.”

“Not as exciting as working in the movie business, I imagine. You must know a lot of really famous people. And you run their careers, as well!”

“I wouldn’t say I  _ run  _ them. And there’s usually a whole team, especially behind a big star. Like as big as Harry, for instance,” Zayn babbles. He abruptly switches tracks when it seems to dawn on him that he’s taking himself down. “But I do make a lot of the deals, I guess.”

“Sounds important,” Liam says, a flirtatious grin spreading molasses-slowly across his face.

“Zayn? A little help?” 

Harry’s tipped the side of the box into his hands. And while it’s not too heavy for him to lift – even after weeks away from Antonio and his basement gym of torture – it is unwieldy for one person to carry.

“Oh,” Zayn says dully, and rushes over to take the other side.

“Liam, Carol, thank you again,” Harry says, backing towards the door.

“Of course. See you next time, Mr. Sty–Harry.” 

Liam strides over to open the door for them. He pushes it open from the inside with his left arm, making it impossible not to brush up against him as they pass. Zayn resolutely keeps his eyes forward, though Harry can see the muscles of his neck clench slightly when his shoulder glances against Liam’s.

“Have a good one, fellas,” Liam says. “Zayn, maybe we’ll see you around?”

Zayn swivels his head at that. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I hope so.”

Harry doesn’t say a  _ word  _ as they load up the box or take their seats or pull back out onto the main road. He can feel Zayn stewing in curiosity next to him, and, considering the manner in which he was woken up this morning, doesn’t fancy rescuing him from it.

Zayn opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again.

“Is that...?” He trails off. “That’s not the guy, is it?”

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the “p.” “He’s not the guy. There is a guy, though.”

“Of course there’s a guy...and  _ that  _ guy? Back there?”

Harry throws a smug smile across the car, then flips on his turn signal.

“Is a good guy. But if you’re going to pump me for information about all of Bedford’s eligible bachelors, we’re at least going to do it over Bloody Marys.”

*****

Rehearsals used to be Louis' favorite part of every weekday. 

Each period, trip to his locker, lecture, and turkey sandwich was just a step on the way to the reason he really showed up here at all: the two hours in which he got to play and perform and stop worrying about the volume of his voice and the quality of his mannerisms.

Lately, however, the brightest part of his afternoon had shifted to a few minutes after that – when Harry would toss his backpack over his shoulder, smile at Louis, and ask, “You ready?”

“Yeah, just give me a second,” he said, prompting Harry to nod in understanding. “I’ll be right there.”

Louis unzipped his backpack, pulling out the essay he was supposed to get peer reviewed. Jade was in his Advanced Composition class, and they always traded. This piece was the last one that would be added to their portfolios and made up the biggest fraction of their grade, so he really needed her feedback.

Jade was bent in half in the area between the first row of seats and the lip of the stage, her hair brushing the pale orange carpet. She always had trouble with her hamstrings on heavy dance days. 

Louis slid the essay on the floor, underneath her blond highlights. “Be gentle.”

Jade turned her head so she could see him out of one eye. “Like Mr. Green, I’m tough, but fair.”

“You know,” she continued, after she returned to standing with a great whip of her hair, “you should have Harry look at this when I’m done.”

They were all pals – co-stars – but every time his other friends (besides Niall, who knew more than Louis had ever intended  _ anyone _ to know) mentioned him, Louis' hackles immediately went up – his fight-or-flight instinct persuading him to claim that he didn’t even know a Harry.

“Wha-why?”

“Because he’s smart.” Jade crossed one arm over her chest, using the back of her other wrist to pull it tight into her body. “Two of his lit mag submissions got in, and he’s in Green’s other period. The boy can write, as if he needed to be good at something else.”

“Green said we only needed the one review, I–”

Jade shrugged. “Just an idea. I asked him for some notes on my short story, and they were actually really helpful. And you guys are tight.”

All Louis could do was blink at her. “I just drive him home.”

She shrugged again, and Louis could see her conviction fall away in the face of his pointless denials. 

“I’ll have this back to you in the morning.” She smiled. “And I’ll use the purple pen. It’s soothing.”

On the way out to the parking lot, Louis dwelled on the very idea Jade was suggesting – that he hand over his  _ personal narrative  _ essay to Harry Styles to digest and pick apart. 

It wasn’t even an especially juicy topic. Louis had written about his last conversations with his grandmother. His first experience with decline, loss, and death had changed him, possibly for the better. There was nothing in the piece that he was embarrassed about. 

What bothered him, Louis realized by the time they reached his car, is that he’d prefer to tell that story to Harry under different circumstances. He wanted to share it with him, person to person, instead of through the lens of an assignment.

Jade’s comments would do.

“I don’t know why I keep missing that line,” Harry was saying. “I’m solid on every single other scene. ‘Everything is good for us and we are good for everything.’ It won’t stick.”

The toll of watching Harry play the dramatic lead day after day was wearing on him. Louis had been right; Harry was born to it. The girls in the ensemble could barely manage a single chassé after they ran one of the love scenes. He was intense but gentle, and so present that, in weaker moments, Louis also suspected that his other prophecy had come true: that Harry and Emily were an offstage couple as well. The strongest evidence against it was that she also had a car...and yet Harry still rode shotgun to Louis every day.

“You know what you do?” Louis suggested. “Go home and write out that line on a piece of paper. Don’t type it; handwrite it. 20, 50 times if you have to. Then it’ll stick.”

“Thanks, Lou.” Harry bit his lip, jotting something down in the one-subject notebook he’d dedicated to  _ West Side Story _ . “That’s a good tip.”

“Got it from  _ Inside the Actors Studio.”  _ Louis started the car, then glanced in the rearview mirror. The tennis kids were notorious for skulking around the parking lot and narrowly avoiding getting hit. “Can’t remember whose episode though.”

“Sigourney Weaver, I think.”

Louis knew he smiled too big and brightly at that. At least he was facing away from Harry – looking over his shoulder at his blind spot. 

“I actually think you’re right.”

For a couple of seconds, he could only hear the air conditioner blowing and the scritching of Harry’s pen in his notebook. Late spring was in full bloom around them, every lawn a vibrant green, the blooms on the magnolia trees an ombré pink and white. The last weeks of school were fast approaching, bringing milestone after milestone: tech week, the senior class party, the opening of their show, prom, the last day of school.

Graduation.

Louis was headed to Boston University in the fall to study drama. The audition had shaved a good five years off of his life; tragic, as it had only barely begun. But it was all worth it when he received that big, fat envelope welcoming him into the Theatre Arts program.

Harry, on the other hand, was matriculating to the University of Connecticut, major as yet undeclared.

Every ride home brought them closer to their last. Granted, the time they’d spent together at the pool last summer made Louis moderately more confident that they would at least see each other in those last few months before they moved away from their parents, hauling new bedding and laundry baskets into the tiny dorm rooms they’d share with strangers. But he’d gotten used to this routine, held onto it like a totem. Learning to drive had been one of his great achievements, but Louis decided that it didn’t thrill him like it used to if Harry wasn’t droning away in the passenger seat, recounting random facts and semi-boring anecdotes in his deepening drawl.

“It’s going to be pretty different, isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Louis glanced at Harry, who was still reviewing whatever he’d written in his notebook. “What is?”

“College. It’ll be like...professional.”

The corner of Louis' mouth drew upwards. “That’s the idea. It’s what I wanna do.”

“I know,” Harry corrected hurriedly. “And you’ll be great at it. I mean, just to get in, that’s huge. I just wonder…”

“It’s barely a ten-minute drive, Harry.”

“Are you scared?”

And, well. Louis wasn’t expecting that.

“I mean...yeah. Fuck, yes. Of course I am.”

“That’s good,” Harry exhaled on a laugh. “Because if  _ you  _ are...you’re one of the most confident people I know.”

Louis grimaced out his side window, hoping that Harry didn’t notice. Because what Harry thought of as confidence was just bravado – just being comfortable with all those things Louis already  _ knew  _ that he could do. That was nothing. That was bullshit. 

He wouldn’t think of Louis that way if he knew what he’d been holding inside for a year and a half. Louis wasn’t even brave enough to claim Harry as his  _ friend _ , not really. He wasn’t brave enough to sit his mom down after dinner and open up to her about something she surely already suspected. Making an ass out of himself in front of a few hundred people was easy.

“I know I wouldn’t have gotten in if they didn’t think I could handle it, but still, not everybody makes it all the way through,” Louis said after a pause. “And yeah, I stood out here – like you. We’re not exactly beating out a ton of guys for these parts. But everybody at that school is going to be  _ exactly  _ like me or better, and I know it sounds cocky, but I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that.”

“So, you’ll raise your game,” Harry reasoned. “You’ll have classes and rehearsals and good professors and you’ll get better.”

Louis took the left in front of the Burger King that he’d mentally marked as their halfway point. More so than usual, he’d felt a strong pull to go straight instead, merge onto the highway, and just drive.

“Surprised you didn’t go for the drama school thing, to be honest,” Louis changed the subject. “I’ve never seen Corden this excited about anyone, including me.”

“I thought about it. But I haven’t been doing this as long as you, and it’s a big decision to make before you even get there.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s true. If you go down that route, it’s not exactly easy to switch majors.”

“Right. I think I just...I have a lot of stuff going on inside me and I’m sort of waiting for it to, I don’t know, settle? I love acting, but I also love to write–”

“Jade was telling me about lit mag,” Louis cut in. “That’s great, Harry. Congrats.”

“Thank you.” He glanced down, pleased, and Louis felt a sudden, urgent need to protect Harry from that unknown they were talking about. “But like, last year, I was sure I’d go for a swimming scholarship, and now I can’t even remember what that felt like. Does that make any sense?”

“You’re 18. Nobody expects you to know what you want to do for the rest of your life right now.”

“You know, though.”

“I  _ think  _ I know,” Louis pulled onto Harry’s street, slowing the car’s pace to a crawl. “Which might be even worse. You’re probably the smart one, keeping your options open.”

“Maybe. I just wish I was as sure as you.” Harry shook his head. “Of anything.”

No one was home, of course, so Louis eased into the driveway of the Styles family’s neat little house with the spiced orange siding and put the car into park.

“Harry, I’m not...I don’t have it all together. I know it seems like I do sometimes, but I’m not really that guy. I think I’m getting pretty good at pretending to be him though.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you would.”

Harry blanched, the area over his eyebrows pinching together. “Heeeyyy.”

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Louis tried. He regretted letting the conversation take this turn and wished Harry would just grab his backpack and leave. He could apologize later. “You’re just very good at being...you, I guess.” 

“Oh yeah?” Harry crossed his arms in challenge. “What makes you so sure?”

“You came to a new school, got up one morning, and decided to try out for the play, even though you didn’t know anyone and had never done it before. Do you have any idea how  _ insane  _ that is?”

Louis could tell he was now yelling by the smile that broke across Harry’s face.

“No. Is it?”

“ _ Yes!”  _ Louis shouted. “But that’s  _ so you  _ not to realize.” He dropped his voice low, “‘Hi ‘m Harry, ‘m good at everything, can I be in the play?’ And then you just  _ were.” _

“I’m sorry?”

Louis sighed. “Don’t be, that’s not what I mean. You should do whatever you want.  _ Try  _ everything you want. Not all of us can just...be ourselves everywhere we go.”

Silence fell over the car, and Louis realized for the first time that Harry hadn’t immediately snapped the radio on, like he always did. He was, however, looking straight at Louis, his expression not angry or amused, but mostly flat and a little bit sad.

“No,” he finally said, pulling on the door latch. “We can’t.”

And then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

“I don’t understand.  _ Why  _ is he here?” 

Liam shrugs. “He’s your boyfriend. Ask him yourself.”

“First of all,” Louis says, shoving his foot into his sneaker, “Harry is not my–” Liam tilts his head, an irritating, knowing look in his too-kind eyes. “Whatever. And he told me. Zayn came to talk him into that movie or whatever. But he already  _ said  _ no. His agent can’t  _ force  _ him.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so.”

“Right, so why bother staying? Doesn’t he have any other clients? Things to do? DUIs to bury?”

Liam zips his hoodie over his 5 Ds t-shirt. “I dunno, Louis. I met the guy for all of five minutes.”

“And? Just tell me what he’s like, so I know what to expect.”

Liam glares pointedly at him. “I really don’t think you want me to do that.” Then he pushes the door open, leaving Louis alone in the men’s locker room.

He hadn’t been expecting to spend the whole Sunday with Harry or anything, but, considering their conversation Saturday night, he thought they’d at least see each other. Instead he’d had to settle for a FaceTime call where Harry went into slightly greater detail about the text he’d sent late that morning, informing Louis that his agent had shown up on his doorstep unannounced and was going to be staying in Bedford for a few days. 

Louis had given up his professional acting dreams fairly early, having fallen in love with teaching after leading a few workshops for underprivileged middle school kids. But what little he knew about agent/client relationships didn’t include surprise visits like this one. Harry was basically  _ paying  _ this man to interrupt his vacation. When Louis asked Harry why he hadn’t strongly hinted that Zayn get back on a plane and leave him alone, Harry had cryptically mentioned some possible benefit to him in all of this. It wasn’t his business to pry into Harry’s career choices, so Louis didn’t push. But he also wasn’t looking forward to meeting the guy tonight.

A pre-booked sweet sixteen had pushed the dodgeball semi-finals to Monday from its regular Wednesday time slot, and because Harry had vowed  _ not  _ to go out of his way to entertain his agent, Zayn was coming along to watch. 

As eager as Louis was to figure out this guy’s deal, he was predisposed not to get along with him. A Google Image search had already soured his impression of Zayn, who looked as Hollywood as Harry didn’t and seemed to own an entirely monochromatic wardrobe. 

But that wasn’t what gave Louis the nervous stomach that he’s been nursing since Harry’s text.

That world was supposed to be far away from them, back in that alternate dimension from which Harry was visiting. Louis already knew that their time was short. They hadn’t needed to send an envoy to rub it in.

Looking at Zayn in those photos – on red carpets, inside exclusive parties – it conjured up images Louis was trying to keep at bay. 

Would he cry when Harry said goodbye? Or would those unkeepable promises that he’d probably feel pressured to make leave Louis too bitter to actually show how badly he’ll miss him this time?

He’s pouting and has a feeling Harry knows it. Instead of meeting him and Zayn for pre-game smoothies, Louis stayed behind to work with a few of his more anxious students on their final monologue presentations. Which were Wednesday afternoon, so it wasn’t exactly a bullshit reason. Just one that served two purposes.

Still alone, he leans into the sink and peers into the cloudy mirror in front of him. If it weren’t for his five o’clock shadow and the crow’s feet Harry  _ insists  _ are sexy, Louis could easily be confused for his teenage self, who turned away from someone he probably loved, even then, just because their relationship couldn’t be exactly the way Louis wanted it.

He wants to think that he won’t do it again.

Louis starts when someone flings the door open behind him.

“Tommo! Get your ass in gear,” Niall bellows. “What time is it?”

“Game time,” Louis mumbles.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU. What time is it?!”

Louis whirls around to face his overly enthusiastic captain.

“Jesus, Niall. It’s game time. Okay? You happy?”

“Be a lot happier if you showed some team spirit,” Niall says, flinging his arm around Louis' shoulder when he shuffles over to the door. “We’re in the semis! Which, by the way, is more than I can say for those cretins I work with.”

“I’m sure you didn’t rub it in their faces or anything.”

“Nah, just some friendly banter,” Niall continues as they walk down the hallway, the noise of the tournament getting louder with every step. What Niall calls friendly, Louis imagines, may not objectively earn that distinction. “Nothing compared to what I’m gonna do when we win it all, my friend.”

“I’m not even going to a–”

“What do I have planned? I’m glad you asked!” Niall interrupts. “Let’s just say I’ve had our team photo blown up to the exact specifications of the break room wall. Let ‘em look at some real winners while they stuff their greasy faces. It’ll put some hairs on their chests.”

Louis manages a weak, uncomfortable smile and Niall’s face falls. He digs his fingers into the front of Louis’ shoulder, bringing them to a halt right at the edge of the bleachers. To the far left, Louis can see Harry, legs endless in those red short-shorts, in conversation with a shorter, dark-haired man in a black and probably exorbitantly expensive suit. Of their own accord, his eyes narrow.

“Hey. Hey, man. I need your head in the game,” Niall says, using both hands to force Louis to face him. “Are you good?”

Louis avoids looking him in the eye. “I don’t know why you’re worried about me. Aren’t  _ you  _ going to be distracted, considering the competition?”

The way the season had shook out, the 5 Ds were playing Shawn’s team, the Shot Callers, for the very first time in the semifinals. As much as Louis wanted to turn the heat away from himself, he wasn’t being totally facetious. Niall and Shawn had met up a couple of times since Niall’s breakdown at the mall – a drink and then a movie. But, as Niall had lamented to Louis a couple of days ago, things had stayed disappointingly friendly. They hadn’t yet ventured out of “hangout” territory, and Niall was now worried they never would.

Maybe he was too rusty, he complained. And, even if he weren’t, he’d never tried to make a move on a guy before.

“I might as well be at the movies with  _ you,”  _ Niall scoffed at one point. Louis swallowed his pride and tried not to take it personally.

“ _ Me?”  _ Niall’s voice flew up an octave. “I’m golden. I’m a machine. Nothing matters to me but my teammates and the win. Bros before...bros.” He frowns.

Louis finally brightens.

“Okay, Niall. I promise that, for the next hour, dodgeball will be my life. I’m not gonna think about my kids or cleaning my gutters or Harry moving away again…”

“Lou, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“No,” he cuts in, giving his friend a sad smile. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I’m being totally serious. It’s happening, we all know it. So I should start getting used to it. I need to start being okay without him.”

Niall gently catches Louis' forearm as he tries to walk out onto the floor. “You don’t know. You don’t know yet if you’re gonna have to be.”

Louis glances over at Zayn, who’s settled himself onto the bleachers right in front of the Harry cheering section that’s grown every week. He scrolls mindlessly through his phone, ignoring all the life around him.

“I do, though,” he says kindly. “I always did. I just let myself ignore it for a little while.”

He watches Niall’s expression completely change as he spots someone on the other side of the room. Following his gaze, Louis sees Shawn stretching out on the floor, one hand raised in greeting and his usual unassuming grin on his face.

“At least there’s still hope for you,” Louis adds, tapping Niall on his ass. Then he goes to join the rest of their team.

“Lou, there you are!” Harry exclaims, having the audacity to look happy to see him. He catches Louis at his waist and leans in, pecking him on his temple. “Missed you,” he says in a husky whisper.

The butterflies in his stomach react, but Louis won’t let them guide him. 

Harry tosses his chin over his shoulder. “Zayn, c’mere. I want you to meet somebody.”

Louis doesn’t want to meet Harry’s handlers under any circumstances, but especially not in a rec center that smells like two decades of jock straps and stuffed cabbage, while he’s dressed as a traffic cone. It’s demeaning.

Zayn  _ glides  _ over – that’s the only word for it – his beautiful face utterly impassive. Louis can only imagine the dispatches he’s sending back to his LA friends about this little detour. 

“Hey,” Zayn says, holding out a well-manicured hand.

“How’s it going?” Louis slides his palm into Zayn’s, actively trying to hide an angry red hangnail. “I’m Louis.”

“So Harry’s said.” Zayn withdraws his hand and crosses his arms. “Zayn Malik, Harry’s agent. Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Harry stands between the two of them smiling stupidly, at least in Louis' estimation. What, exactly, does he expect is going to happen here? New best friends forever?

“What brings you all the way to Mass, Zayn?” Louis challenges, his voice tight in his own ears. “Can’t be much show business going on out here.”

“Well, there’s only so much you can do on the phone. I had a couple of days, thought I’d come out here, talk to Harry in person. Heard a lot about you. You teach drama, right?”

One of the many benefits of the messy bun look Harry likes to sport for these games is that Louis can tell when the tips of his ears glow pink. 

“Um, yeah. At the high school. Harry actually worked with my students a little bit. That might’ve been a mistake, though. They won’t shut up about it.” He smiles sheepishly up at Harry, who scrunches up his face in apology.

“Well, if I’ve learned anything in this business,” Zayn says wisely, “it’s to never forget where you came from. That’s why people respond to Harry like they do. He has this way of making them feel like they know him.”

Louis' heart plummets into his stomach at that, his hand clammy in Harry’s loose grip. 

“Alright, circle up!” 

Niall’s beckoning saves Louis from having to formulate a reply. Instead, he nods politely at Zayn, dropping Harry’s hand as they meet the rest of the team in a semi-circle around Niall and that god damn clipboard.

He tunes Niall out as he looks around the room, the very people who make up Harry’s adoring audience occupying every part of this building except the seat where Zayn currently sits. Harry may not see it as public relations – in fact, Louis would swear on his sisters that he doesn’t – but to some people in Harry’s life, that’s all Louis will ever be: a demographic.

“So play hard, play smart, and remember: this is what we’ve been working towards. We’re going into next season  _ champions,  _ you hear me?” Niall wraps up his pep talk, and Harry squeezes the back of Louis' neck with strong fingers. 

“Hey, you okay?”

Louis glances up into his concerned face, his blood cool and hot at the same time.

“We’ll have to replace you,” he states.

“What?”

“You won’t be around next season,” Louis explains, removing Harry’s hand gently. “We’ll have to find somebody else to take your spot.”

Louis has no interest in being a fond memory. A getaway, a sometimes. For somebody else, that might be enough. Hell, he wishes it were for him too. It would certainly make this a lot easier.

If he had his way, Harry would come home to him. They’d stop talking in circles and allusions and half-truths and admit that this wasn’t just  _ something,  _ it was everything. 

At the same time, Louis wouldn’t dream of asking Harry to give up his career. It was all tied up in why he loved him, that the courageous, gangly boy he met outside the auditorium doors grew up to be just as magnificent to the rest of the world as he always was to Louis. Harry deserved his success – every bit of it – and his audience, in turn, deserved to hear his voice.

Logistically, if one of them were to turn his life upside down, it should be Louis. One resignation letter and a For Sale sign on the lawn and he’d be free to be with Harry all the time, wherever he went. 

Louis would never know if that’s what Harry even wanted, because Harry would never ask that favor.

He could walk away from a lot to be with Harry, but not his kids. Not his classroom. Harry knew that.

So where the hell does that leave them?

This isn’t exactly the venue for deep reflections, Louis thinks as he takes his regular place on the floor, ignoring Harry’s plaintive repetition of his name. Futures, as a rule, shouldn’t be decided while wearing iron-on letters that have already started to peel off in the wash.

Unable to help himself, he sneaks a look at Zayn while the referee goes over the rules. Shockingly, his nose isn’t pointed down at his phone. He actually seems to be paying strict attention to Liam, going so far as to crane his neck to see around the rest of them. Liam appears to be wholly unaware, staring right at the referee, his weight shifting from left to right and back again.

Louis tries to shake the musky, mildew-y scent of the rec center out of his brain, if not his nostrils. He won’t look at Harry before the whistle – refuses to give him the satisfaction of it.

When the ref starts play, Louis shifts into autopilot. All the cheers around him become so much white noise in his ears, as do the grunts and encouragements of his teammates. He palms one of the balls at the line almost immediately, and that’s just the beginning. Swerving hits and nailing two opponents within two minutes of the match beginning, he’s possessed by the very  _ spirit  _ of dodgeball (which sounds and feels a lot like jealousy and fear over what Harry might want more than he wants him). It’s easy to overlook a cry of pain and one indignant, “Dude, what the hell?” when he’s playing this well. Atom by atom, his frustration morphs into euphoria, which is reason enough for him. Anyway, isn’t this what Niall wanted? Not just to win but to destroy?

His ears still ringing, Louis vaguely registers that they have four men (well, three men and Maren) on the court to the other team’s two. They could end them right now. It could be some type of  _ record.  _ Who says they need Harry to dominate next year? Any body will do. 

Louis intercepts a throw that was headed for Niall, whose “Hey!” indicates that he could have easily caught it. Louis scans the court, the grid lines in his field of vision an imaginary but useful construct. Ahead and to his right, he clocks a six-foot-tall target. He pulls his armed hand back as far as it will go – a taut string on a crossbow – then lets the ball fly,  _ hard _ and  _ fast. _

It’s aimed right at Shawn’s midsection. Louis wasn’t  _ trying _ to knock the breath out of him – just to  _ win, _ to feel victorious about one tiny, insignificant thing. His muscles tingle with adrenaline and it’s better than what he was feeling before.

Shawn’s eyes widen as the ball torpedoes towards him. He has the smallest fraction of a second to make a decision, but his instinct steers him wrong. He dives to his left, not his right, and there’s a momentous crash when he slides into the metal bleachers. 

The whole room stops, just as it did when Niall hit the floor. The two women sitting closest to where Shawn made contact slide closer to check on him. Louis can barely make out anything, just Shawn’s lower body sprawled on the floor in an awkward position. 

All of Shawn’s teammates run to him, but so does Niall.

The tips of Louis’ fingers go numb. Harry is just behind him now, but even that doesn’t matter if Shawn’s not okay.

If he’s not being self-destructive, he’s being an active danger to others. As usual, Louis’ emotions should carry a warning label. 

Niall will hate him, he realizes. Of all the things his best friend has put up with when it comes to Louis,  _ this  _ is the one that will change everything forever.

Nick cuts the music.

There’s movement at the bleachers. Niall shuffles back from where he’s been crouched. His fingers, Louis notices, loosely circle Shawn’s wrist. 

Then it’s Shawn himself crawling free and (thank god), coming up to stand. 

“Are you alright, son?” the ref asks, his cell phone out and ready to call an ambulance.

“I’m okay,” Shawn says. He even looks it. Niall, meanwhile, is as white as a glass of milk. “Kinda banged my shoulder, but it sounded a lot worse than it was.”

Louis lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and the whole building itself seems to do the same. It’s a different collective reaction, however, when Niall tugs on Shawn’s wrist, cups the back of his neck, and pulls the taller man down to him.

All eyes in the rec center – including Louis’ and even Zayn’s – are on them, but neither Niall nor Shawn seem to care. Even with Niall’s lips on his, it takes Shawn a moment to process what’s happening, long enough of one that Louis releases another breath when he finally –  _ enthusiastically  _ – responds, taking Niall in his arms like a Disney prince.

“Oh. Shit,” Harry breathes, sending goosebumps racing up into Louis’ shirtsleeves

Because, to be quite honest, he’s never seen anything so romantic. Romantic, spontaneous,  _ brave.  _

His best friend is really something.

Had he been able to see this coming  _ at all,  _ Louis would have guessed that Maren would be the first to catcall them. Her piercing wolf whistle breaks the spell, prompting the rest of the place to burst into cheers and applause. 

And so their first kiss ends with Niall and Shawn shell-shocked and smiling against each other as Nick drops the needle on “Get Ready 4 This.”

Louis spins halfway around to glance at Harry as the Jock Jam fills the space.

Harry puts a hand on his heart and lets his eyes fall closed, his smile warm and proud.

Louis decides to let Niall’s courage and Harry’s faith rub off on him. So, his heart may break later. Harry’s here now and he’s his – of this, Louis is sure. 

“I missed you too,” he mouths, after Harry’s eyes flutter open and fix on him.

Harry presses his fingers to his lips and blows Louis a kiss.

Then Niall is back in position – red from his ankles to his hairline and wildly grinning – and play resumes. Their hearts aren’t really in it anymore, so the Shot Callers easily take them down. Niall doesn’t complain once.

The 5 Ds lost and the Shot Callers still have the finals to go, but at the bar, both teams act like champions. Niall looks more smug than Louis has ever seen him, under Shawn’s arm and grinning up at him as he relays a story to some of his teammates. Maren, Liam, Zayn, Harry, and Louis find a booth that would be snug for all five of them; fortunately, Maren takes up a Shot Caller’s offer to be his beer pong partner, and they end up running the table for the next hour.

Zayn buys a couple of rounds for those that remain – it’s the  _ least  _ he can do – and eventually seems to settle in, despite Sal’s lack of bathroom attendants, bottle service, or a velvet rope outside the door. Louis suspects that Liam has something to do with it. 

They were even  _ less  _ subtle than Shawn and Niall, frequently seeking one another out during the game. Louis can understand the attraction from Zayn’s side. He probably doesn’t meet a lot of Liams in his line of work. The earnestness that used to make Louis’ blood boil now seems like a rare, valuable quality and something not easy to hold onto, whether that’s in a small town, Hollywood, or anywhere else. That, and Zayn is currently sizing Liam up like he wants to scale him and plant a flag somewhere. 

Zayn, on the other hand, is alright. To his credit, he lets industry talk fall to the wayside before their first beers are finished, letting Liam share his tales of veterinary heroism and even asking Louis questions about his spring production that make him seem somewhat interested. For the most part though, he is quiet. Considering his surprise arrival, Louis had expected Zayn to throw his weight around a little more. But it’s like getting drunk with his friends and a shy newcomer. 

One thing Zayn  _ doesn’t  _ do, however, is inquire about or even acknowledge Louis and Harry as a couple. Harry is shamelessly clingy, holding Louis’ hand over the table and dropping his head onto his shoulder when the alcohol starts to catch up with him.

Even with their company, with Harry’s large frame draped over him, Louis can’t help but be reminded that it’s been months since Harry has well and truly fucked him. Just when they got back on track in that department, Zayn had dropped into their lives, effectively cockblocking Louis.

Maybe, Louis considers for the first time, that’s why he’s here.

It would be one way to get Harry’s head back into the game. If Zayn could distract him from Louis enough – to keep them from getting closer – it would be simpler for Harry to make a clean break at the end of all of this.

“Take me home,” Harry rumbles in Louis’ ear just before midnight.

Zayn and Liam are deep in conversation on the other side of the booth and Louis couldn’t possibly have heard right.

“What did you say?” 

Harry palms the inside of Louis’ thigh. “Need you, Lou.” His voice is raspy from yelling at the game and then talking all night. “Right now.”

With his cock responding to the proximity of Harry’s hand and the gravel in his voice, Louis has no idea why he hesitates. “But what about–?”

“Zayn’ll be fine, trust me,” Harry says, nudging Louis out of the booth. “Night, boys!” he calls loudly. Zayn nods and Liam lifts a hand in farewell, both looking vaguely peeved at the distraction.

“Should we just–?”

“I’ll call an Uber,” Louis says, pushing through the double doors and out into the bar parking lot. “Neither of us should drive.”

He taps in all the necessary info, Harry burning away next to him. 

“Three minutes,” he says finally, then Harry pulls him in by his hips and kisses him deeply.

It drains all the fight out of him. Zayn and whatever threat he poses suddenly feel thousands of miles away instead of just 15 feet. Harry tastes like orange and coriander, and his grip is true. Louis would give him anything, satisfy any request, even knowing the cost.

He pulls reluctantly away a minute later, Harry’s breath moist and slightly labored on the side of his neck as he glances down at the app. 

“Arghhh,  _ come on!”  _ Louis whines, shaking his phone a little. “Crescent is a one-way, dummy!” he yells at it.

It’s almost like their driver doesn’t know that his poor directional skills are the only thing standing between Louis and getting Harry Styles very, very naked.

“Now it’s four minutes,” Louis sighs, defeated.

Harry slides his hands down to Louis’ ass and squeezes. “However will we pass the time?” he asks, and then connects their lips again.

Harry’s definitely drunk, but not sloppily so. His movements are smooth and liquid, but still purposeful and sure.

The night of the reunion they pawed frantically at each other as soon as they stumbled through Louis’ front door. The adrenaline crashed through him; Louis thought he might actually have a heart attack. They were too impatient to properly prep, so there was a sweet, intoxicating pain when Harry first pushed into him.

That was how it all started, really. Their first time was a blur – a clutch of desperation. The second was the one that really ruined Louis’ life. He had plenty of time to memorize how it felt to rock back on Harry’s fingers and the way Harry’s hair made waves against his stomach when he swallowed Louis’ cock. One thing led to another (blow jobs in the shower) to another (Louis rimming Harry until tears streamed down his face) to another (Harry closing the door behind him, leaving Louis’ apartment quiet and lonely).

Louis’ emotions were all over the place that weekend, and he’s no more in control now. The main difference is that he’s currently being kissed by the man he loves, and that, in turn, changes everything.

As soon as they climb into the backseat, Harry pulls Louis into his side, fingertips tapping impatiently on his flank. Louis turns into the primal scent of dried sweat on the nape of his neck – all they did after the game was splash their faces with water and change – and nips at Harry’s pulse point. Harry bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, and Louis supposes that it’s the least he deserves after holding out on him for so long.

Because if they’d simply picked up where they left off, the shift wouldn’t have been so obvious. Louis wouldn’t be going back to bed with Harry now, after these precious weeks of getting to know him again, sure that being together like this will slice him open, exposing something vast and inescapable.

He’s powerless to resist, though. It’s like that dream he sometimes has where he’s in class or at a family event, but he can’t move or speak, no matter how hard he tries. There’s not the same cold fear, however. Wanting Harry like he does involves an ecstatic sort of resignation – something close to religion.

He’d almost dare to dream that Harry feels the same force; besides a thank you to the driver, he doesn’t breathe a word as they walk to the front door or as Louis unlocks it with a trembling hand.

He also doesn’t pounce on Louis as soon as they’re inside, as he had after the reunion. (Or had Louis done the pouncing? He can’t remember.) They stand close in the darkness, the emerald light of Harry’s eyes the first thing Louis can make out as his vision adjusts. 

“Louis.”

Louis lets out a ragged exhale and leans into it when Harry reaches out to cradle his cheek.

“I know.”

He can’t articulate it, but he knows. Harry’s never said his name like that before – two syllables laden with desire, regret, and perhaps something even weightier.

Louis tries to give him all of that back when he closes the distance between them and kisses Harry, soft and long, his fingers featherlight on Harry’s cheeks.

“I’m gonna need you out of those clothes,” Harry says afterwards, their foreheads resting together.

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

He keeps hold of one of Harry’s hands, leading him up the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom, his heart pounding all the while.

Harry quickly snaps off the overhead light the moment Louis flips it on.

“Um,  _ okay _ ,” Louis says, watching him move over to the bed and taking full offense.

“If actors know one thing–” Harry turns on Louis’ bedside lamp, his handsome features bathed in a golden, less harsh glow. “–it’s how to find our light.” Then he stands up to his full height and strips off his black t-shirt in one smooth movement. The sight of his toned, tattooed torso in that same glow makes Louis’ mouth go dry. 

Louis feels stupid even saying it. He’s looking at one of the most objectively gorgeous people in the world. But beauty like Harry’s should never go unremarked upon – especially when it’s standing in his bedroom.

“God, you are... _ stunning.” _

A pleased smile spreads across Harry’s face. “Look who’s talking.”

Louis’ shirt hits the floor before he reaches Harry, who drops onto the bed and positions Louis in between his thighs.

He left the air conditioning on when he left that morning, so Louis’ nipples harden immediately in the chilled air. He swallows a squeal when Harry rolls one between his fingers as he glides his tongue over his exposed stomach, circling his belly button and then marking it with a kiss. 

In the perfect position to do so, Louis tugs the the elastic out of Harry’s hair, letting his sweat-tinged curls cascade down to his shoulders and releasing a wave of dizzying, masculine scent. He plunges his fingers in, then gathers it in a small ponytail at the back of Harry’s neck. Harry unlatches from a purpling spot on Louis’ ribs when Louis gently pulls his ponytail, raising Harry’s face towards his for another kiss. 

The kiss starts deep and only gets filthier, Harry tugging at Louis’ lower lip with his teeth while simultaneously trying to divest him of his jeans. Impressively, he gets them down as far as Louis’ thighs on his own. Louis breaks away only to wrestle himself completely out of them, kicking them away behind him.

“Get over here,” Harry growls, tugging Louis down to the bed and then rolling over to cover him. 

It’s a sensation that Louis is becoming far too attached to – Harry’s body holding him down, bracketing him in. His relative nakedness only adds to the feeling of helplessness that turns every nerve ending into an exposed wire. Rough denim moves against his barely protected cock every time Harry grinds into him, and it’s just on the good side of being too much until it crosses that line.

“Mmph. Off,” Louis says against the plane of Harry’s jaw, pushing uselessly at his waistband.

Harry obediently rolls over onto his back and shimmies out of his pants, his cock tenting his black boxer-briefs obscenely. He’s back on Louis in record time, licking into his mouth feverishly, one hand slipping under the cotton to palm an ass cheek.

It feels like going crazy, rocking into Harry’s hardness and then back into his hand at every other beat, heat pooling in his belly whenever Harry’s thumb inches closer to his hole. But his cock is already leaking, and this isn’t how he wants to come tonight.

So Louis puts more of his weight into the motion, pushing Harry onto his back and straddling his thighs with his knees. 

“Can I?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the elastic of Harry’s very silky and probably very pricey underwear.

“Yes. Fuck, yes, please.”

Smirking at Harry, laid out so magnificently in front of him, Louis takes care to pull the elastic wide so it doesn’t drag across Harry’s dick. It bobs up to his abdomen and Louis thinks about this guy from college – one of the first out, gay men he was ever close to – who maintained that “everyone knew” most movie stars had unimpressive cocks. He was so wrong in Harry’s case that it actually pains Louis to leave him untouched, sliding back up his body to run his tongue over both nipples, then christen every tattoo he can find with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Harry’s moaning loudly by the time Louis makes it to the laurels framing his pelvis, but, Louis is happy to see, has resisted putting his hands himself and has them fisted in the duvet instead. Good boy.

Only after thoroughly tracing both branches, Harry’s skin salty underneath him, does Louis take the tip of Harry’s cock into his mouth and suckle it gently, prompting some incomprehensible utterance to slip from Harry’s lips. 

“What was that?” Louis smiles up at him.

Harry props himself up on his elbows, staring back at Louis with pupils blown wide. 

“I said, ‘God, you’re annoying.”

Louis noses along Harry’s shaft, the earthy aroma making his head swim.

“Not what I heard,” he teases, then takes Harry down as far as he can.

He feels privileged to get to see Harry like this: head thrown back, the muscles of his stomach and neck taut as strings on a world-class violin. Louis likes sucking dick; he’s good at it. But with Harry, it’s even more empowering. It makes  _ him  _ feel like the goddamn superhero to bring Harry so close to losing all control.

Harry reaches blindly out with one hand and finds a grip on Louis' hair. They move together as Louis’ lips slide up and down his shaft, pumping the length he can’t reach with his fist. When he pulls off with a messy pop, Harry holds him there, hovering above the head of his cock, their eyes locked. 

There’s more than just heat there. Louis has lived long enough — endured enough meaningless affairs — to recognize that. 

But is there enough?”

“I want you on your back,” Harry grits out. 

What else can Louis do but oblige him? He climbs off of Harry and flops back onto the bed, peeling off his briefs as he does. Harry drapes over him again and kisses him, hard and greedy.

“You’ve got me where you want me, superstar,” Louis gasps. “Now what?”

Slinking backwards, Harry’s mouth curls upwards on one side, the look in his eyes practically devious. 

“I’m going to give you my fingers and then I’m going to give you my cock,” he says as if he were reading a menu. “If that’s something you’re interested in.” 

“Drawer,” Louis directs, the anticipation stealing his vocabulary. “There. You remember.”

Harry shuffles through Louis’ nightstand until he finds a condom and a small bottle of lube. Louis lazily jacks his own cock a few times, watching Harry get everything in order. Standing on his knees, he’s still the only flawless person Louis has ever seen, even — no, especially — with the soft, appealing love handles he’s developed after weeks of his mom’s cooking and being away from his trainer. Louis longs to bite into the flesh there, then hold onto it while he fucks into Harry.

Some other time.

“I wish you could see yourself like this,” Harry drawls, his eyes roaming everywhere that they can reach. Louis lets one knee fall to the side, opening his hips in an even more debaucherous pose. Harry’s worshipful response to his vulnerability is too intoxicating to resist. “So wet and ready for me. You’re so goddamn beautiful, Lou. You’re the one everybody should be looking at.”

Without warning, Harry grabs onto his ankle and slides Louis down to him a few inches, the resulting yelp bringing back his smirk. The thin skin burns where Harry still has him loosely gripped, the blaze spreading when he coaxes Louis to lift his foot off the bed and draw his knee back toward his shoulder.

“I don’t ever want anyone else to see you like this,” Harry says seriously, coating the fingers of his right hand with lube. “Just you and me.”

“‘s a bit impractical,” Louis says, high and breathy. Harry’s circling his asshole with a cool, slippery index finger and his senses are already inching towards overload.

“Don’t care,” Harry declares, then pushes in to his second knuckle. Louis inhales through his teeth, his body both welcoming and fighting the intrusion. Harry stays still for a few seconds; when Louis can wrench his eyes open again, he finds Harry studying his face like a scientist.

Then he starts to move, pushing in further and then back out again, coaxing the muscle to relax until Louis asks for a second finger. Harry repositions himself where he sits on his ankles, then obliges Louis' request, scissoring his index and middle fingers as soon as Louis adjusts to the addition. 

There’s a twinge in his knee from where Harry is holding it at an angle, but it barely registers. Louis concentrates on Harry’s sudden possessiveness and the enthusiasm with which he’s opening him up. He wouldn’t — can’t — hold Harry to something he said right before they were about to fuck for the first time in months, but Louis holds on to it recklessly right now. Finding out that Harry wanted him at all had required some serious time to sink in — the possibility that he might want  _ only  _ him set Louis’ heart pounding between his ears and his body aching to be filled.

“Look at that,” Harry whispers reverently when he adds a third finger, watching them piston in and out of Louis. “You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me. I always knew you would be.”

Then he crooks them just right, squarely hitting Louis’ prostate. His curses become a chant as Harry attacks it over and over again, until there’s nothing left to do but beg.

“Mmm, Harry, please,” Louis whines, all sense of shame gone. “Need your cock.”

Harry slides his fingers out at once, leaving Louis gaping and empty. He crawls over him, dipping down to kiss Louis thoroughly, his tongue thrusting into his mouth.

“When it comes to me, you can have anything you want,” Harry says to his lips, then draws backwards, bringing a pillow with him. 

He grabs onto Louis’ shin, prompting him to lift his hips off the bed, then places the pillow underneath them. The sheen of his sweat makes Harry glow like some kind of god under the lamplight as he rolls on the latex then drizzles more lube onto his cock. That’s Louis’ last sensical thought before Harry lines up, takes a deep breath, and then sinks slowly into him, the building heat enveloping Louis like he’s been tossed into a volcano.

Louis hasn’t been with anyone since the last time, and Harry is well above average, so the heat mingles with discomfort, topped off by a sharp sense of relief. He doesn’t exhale until Harry is buried to the hilt, steadying himself with a firm grip on Louis’ hips.

“Jesus,” Harry says, mostly to himself. Then, to Louis: “Are you…?”

“‘m good,” Louis rasps. “Yeah, good. Move.”

With their gazes locked, Harry pulls almost entirely out, then slams back into Louis about ten times faster than before.

Louis cries out. He can’t reach Harry from his angle, so he uses the bedding for purchase.

Harry repeats the movement, this time lightly smacking Louis on the ass before he fucks into him again.

The sting and the sound scramble Louis’ brain into an incoherent pulse of desire. His hand flies to his cock, but Harry pushes it away, giving him a stern look.

Satisfied Louis won’t try it again, Harry skates his hands down the backs of Louis’ thighs, then takes him behind the knees, hooking both legs over his shoulders without even a grunt of effort.

Louis groans at the change in angle, Harry’s increased range of motion making each thrust feel deeper and more desperate.

“Feels so good,” he pants, “Inside you, fuck. Could stay here forever.”

“Want you to,” Louis breathes, because he’s too wrecked to worry about revealing too much.

With his hips in the air, he can rock them back to meet Harry’s strokes. Their pace and intensity increase, skin slapping indecently against skin, the ridges of Harry’s dick dragging against Louis’ prostate every few thrusts.

Finally, Harry fumbles between them to get an unsteady hand on Louis' cock, squeezing as twists his fist upwards. Louis’ heart enters his throat, but he could swear he can also see it knocking against his ribs, trying to make some miraculous escape. He can sense his grip on rationality loosening as the tension builds and builds at the base of his spine, until all that’s left of awareness is  _ I love you I love you I love you. _

For a split second, he’s sure he’d shouted it when he came, shooting into Harry’s hand. But there’s no shock or confusion in Harry’s expression — just a spacey, dreamy smile as he pumps back into Louis one, two, three more times, coming hard into the condom.

His upper body strength seems to recede in an instant; nevertheless Harry lowers Louis gingerly to the bed before pulling out, muttering nonsense praise. Louis stretches out his cramped limbs when Harry disappears into the master bath to clean up. He’s going to need a few hot water bottles tomorrow, if not a full body cast. 

His sole regret, however, is that he didn’t tell Harry how much things had changed for him. He had a right to know, and yet, revealing it now almost seems like setting a trap.

As strongly as Louis feels it when Harry dabs a warm, wet towel over his abdomen and between his legs, so he won’t wake up sticky and miserable.

As strongly as he feels it when Harry rifles through his dresser to find a clean pair of underwear and a soft t-shirt, because he remembers that Louis doesn’t like to sleep naked.

And as strongly as he feels it when Harry turns off the light, pulls back the covers, climbs in, and then rolls onto his side with Louis’ wrist, putting him on like a backpack.

With his heart thumping against the solid expanse of Harry’s back, Louis knows that he can’t hide. So he lets himself keep silently repeating his new mantra, half hoping that Harry gets his message in his dreams.

*****

Predictably, everything changed after that first performance.

Louis got his fair share of attention, but it was nothing to how the entire school reacted to Harry — Harry, who’d basically come out of nowhere. Harry, who was already had it going for him that he was popular, good-looking, and athletic. 

Nothing Louis did on that stage surprised anyone, as good as he  _ knew  _ he had been. 

Corden clapped him on the back, his eyes glassy, and said how much “the program” would miss Louis next year.

His mom left flowers in his room that morning, well aware she couldn’t bring them to the show.

The company showered compliments on him and covered his program with notes.

Louis still felt all the exhilaration and camaraderie that made theater his addiction. Yet, he was happiest whenever it was him and Harry — Riff and Tony — in a moment on stage, eyes locked and breathing synced. Because he knew that Harry understood. That he loved it just as much as Louis did. And watching him succeed — to become the star that Louis was too reliable and expected to be — made Louis happy.

Until Louis couldn’t get to him as parents and students who had waited for their kids and friends to emerge from backstage swarmed him in the lobby.

Until Emily singlehandedly led the campaign for Harry to be voted onto the prom court.

Until talking to Harry at school meant breaking through the pack of admirers who seemed to follow him everywhere. 

As soon as  _ West Side Story  _ was over, there were no more car rides. Harry silently resumed taking the bus, which Louis wanted to tell him wasn’t necessary. They still had school. He still had to get home. Just because they didn’t have rehearsal wasn’t a reason to…

Well, anyway, it was over.

Louis tried to turn his attention to the final days of his real adolescence, but every event was dull and overly sentimental. He stood motionless in huge dance circles while people who bickered and bullied each other for years pretended that they’d always gotten along. That they’d even  _ miss  _ each other.

Jade and Jesy dutifully took turns dragging him out to slow dance, because everyone was and because that was what you did. He’d steer them as far as he could from where Emily hung her thin, white arms around Harry’s neck. 

First, he was just missing. And then missing turned to resentment.

Niall learned quickly that it was no longer cool to mention Harry’s name or ask about him in any capacity, but Louis didn’t miss his concerned looks. He meant well, but they made Louis feel even more alone.

By prom, he couldn’t wait to leave this all behind and start over in college. It would be different there, everyone said so. Maybe the idea of being open about who he was wouldn’t crush him as soon as he let it pass through his mind.

With Jesy’s arm looped through his elbow, Louis watched as students streamed through the gymnasium doors – all two-by-two and boy-girl – and wondered if anyone else there felt like a fraud. High school wasn’t life. He knew that. But it was a moment in time – in  _ their  _ time. What would he have to look back on? Secrets and lies.

At least he was in good company tonight. He and Jesy shared a limo with Niall and Barbara and Jade and Nick. While Niall and Barbara were hopelessly in love and – he was fairly sure, though Niall wouldn’t admit it – already planning their wedding, Jade and Nick had also paired up as friends. The six of them stuck together from dinner to the grand march to the beginning of the dance itself, and Louis was glad for the insulation they provided. 

But they were forced to break ranks when the court was called up for the crowning of the king and queen. Jade, Jesy, and Nick were all well-liked enough to have made the cut. Barbara was lovely and smart but a textbook introvert. Louis and Niall – well, they didn’t play the game. And though they were hardly outcasts, they were treated accordingly.

The announcement caught Louis off-guard. They were too close to the stage. He was too close to Harry when he walked stiffly by, his bicep in Emily’s vice grip. They’d said hello earlier, like the friendly acquaintances that they’d become. But he looked princely and delicate under these lights, and it was overwhelming.

“Is Harry okay?” Barbara whispered to Louis. 

He stiffened, still staring ahead. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno. He looks a little pale, doesn’t he?”

“I think he looks…” Louis trailed off, stuck. “He’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Barbara sounded wounded by Louis’ sharp tone. “I thought you were friends.”

Louis closed his eyes briefly. Why did everyone keep saying that?

Emily beamed away when Harry’s name was called and the thin, plastic crown was placed on his curls. Louis felt a twisted satisfaction when her face hardened a minute later, as the room cheered for their new queen, a friendly jock girl named Amy who was in all of Louis’ AP classes, plus a few more.

Say what you will about his classmates, but Louis reckoned they got this one right.

Watching the two of them dance was slightly easier. Amy’s smile was toothy and delighted. She didn’t pull Harry close or try to put her head on his shoulder. All she seemed to want was to share her excitement with him, not devour his essence like the witch in a fairytale. It was the soft bewilderment on Harry’s face that pierced Louis’ heart. He looked so handsome and uncomfortable in his navy suit – chosen, Louis suspected, to complement Emily’s ice blue gown. 

This was only the beginning for him, Louis sensed. Harry was the kind of person who people would fall all over themselves to reward. He wanted all of that for him. He really did. 

Still, if he thought hard enough, he could conjure the feeling of Harry’s hands on the small of his back, his breath on Louis’ cheek. It seemed so right to him – inevitable even as it was impossible, in a way he could never explain to anyone. 

Louis tried and failed to forget that feeling as soon as the newly crowned king and queen stepped out of the spotlight. But it followed him to the punchbowl and down into the photo corridor, from the bleachers to the boy’s bathroom. The only place they’d ever hugged –  _ really  _ embraced – was onstage. Louis tried not to take advantage of it, but his senses defied him. The vanilla apple aroma of Harry’s curls would never leave him, nor would the memory of the way he dug his fingertips into Louis' shoulders like he was trying to keep him there. 

A character choice, Louis reminded. Nothing more.

“Oh. Hey.”

Then Harry was in front of him, exiting the semi-hidden bathroom down by the art studio as Louis was going in.

Did he look pale? The fluorescent lights in this hallway weren’t flattering to anyone, so Louis couldn’t tell.

“Hi.”

Harry smiled wanly and adjusted his crown. Louis might have guessed he was embarrassed. 

“I know I should say congratulations, but I’d rather say I told you so,” Louis gently teased. His chest ached.

“You did. I don’t know if I deserve it.” Harry dropped his chin as far as he could without sending his crown clattering to the ground.

“It’s not the US presidency, Harry. It just means people like you. They voted for you because they like you.”

Harry looked up, bright eyes locked on Louis. “Did you vote for me?”

A simple question, and yet, Louis’ stomach dropped. The answer felt too big to contain.

“Yes. Of course I voted for you, Harry. You’re my–”

“It’s been weird, you know?” Harry interrupted, his expression still unreadable. “Now that the musical’s over and everything.”

Louis nodded, trying to catch the slippery undercurrent of whatever he was trying to say.

“I miss it. I know we’re moving on, and college is gonna be the best years of our lives, whatever. I just wish, I don’t know, I wish…”

“Things were different.”

“Yeah,” Harry quietly agreed. 

“How’s Emily?” Louis winced inwardly, but he didn’t know what else to say that was even remotely safe.

“Oh. She’s good. A little disappointed about queen.” Louis couldn’t stifle his smile; fortunately, it was contagious. “I know. But tonight means a lot to her so I’m just trying, you know, to help her have a good time.”

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Are  _ you  _ having a good time? It’s your senior prom, I’ve heard we’re supposed to do that.”

“Oh. Um. I know I’m supposed to be honored by this and I am, but I always pictured my prom being...well, not like this.”

Emily and Harry weren’t a match, and that wasn’t just Louis’ jealousy talking. Harry deserved someone who wanted to have  _ fun  _ with him – not just show him off to all of her friends and then pout when she didn’t get the prize she wanted. As much as he’d dreaded watching Harry fall in love with some girl by the snack table, he’d wished him a better memory than this.

“Me too,” Louis whispered. “Or I did, until I realized…”

Harry waited, looking at him expectantly.

Louis shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I should–”

“Harry, I don’t mean this to sound however it’s going to sound, but–” He huffed in a breath, steeling himself. “–I’m really proud of you. I know we’re the same age, and you’re better at pretty much everything than me, and we haven’t talked much lately, but I still am. And I wanted to tell you that. I’m proud of you.”

It wasn’t until the flood of words stopped that Louis realized he’d taken a step closer to Harry, and that they were still alone in the hallway.

“Louis.” Harry said his name plainly, yet his voice was low enough to make Louis’ toes curl in his tight, black dress shoes. He had no idea what it meant, but his pulse had quickened. He could see that Harry’s eyes weren’t purely green – he’d never been close enough to notice the variation before.

Louis couldn’t move.

It was surreal. So surreal that Louis could have sworn that Harry had started to lean down towards him, his eyelids fluttering as if they were about to close.

“Harry? Are you back here?” Emily’s voice echoed through the corridor and Harry practically leapt backwards. 

There it was: the rejection he’d be anticipating. His heart wanted to harden itself, and Louis let it.

Harry fixed Louis with a pathetic, apologetic look. He felt pitied, and he hated it.

“Lou,” he said again. “I’m–” 

“Yep. I know,” Louis said tightly, then turned on his heel and walked away. 

But he didn’t know, Harry thought. He didn’t know at all. 


	9. Chapter 9

In the name of his job, Louis had trained himself to be a morning person. Still, this one comes far too soon.

It takes two rounds of his alarm going off in the pocket of his jeans (wherever those ended up) for Louis to start to stir with any intention, returning to consciousness with his cheek resting on Harry’s bare chest and one of Louis’ legs thrown over his. The last time, it was like cuddling a memorial statue (in the best possible way) – Harry was all firmness and unyielding, hard lines. If Armageddon were to have happened, Louis was confident he could have lived through it, shielded by Harry’s arms. 

Now, he’s ever so slightly squishier, though Louis would never use that word to his face. Like a body pillow, if body pillows could still easily bench press Louis’ full weight.

Emboldened by the hour, Louis decides to explore this softer Harry. Watching his face to make sure his eyes remained closed and breathing even, Louis reaches across to Harry’s bicep and pokes it with his finger, just to observe the give. His flesh and muscle respond, denting in satisfyingly. Louis smiles to himself, then does it again.

“Hello,” Harry rumbles underneath him. Louis looks up to find him sleepy and amused. “Having fun?”

“Shh, yes.” Louis puts an index finger against his lips. “Go back to sleep.”

“And miss this?” Harry catches Louis' hand and kisses his fingertips. “Not a chance.”

Louis’ muffled alarm sounds again. He groans into Harry’s side.

“Duty calls.”

“It has the worst fucking timing,” Louis grumbles. 

“Thought that was us–hey!” Harry rubs the spot near his nipple where Louis has just lightly bitten him.

While he’s distracted, Louis slides out of Harry’s embrace, crossing the room to turn the damn thing off.

“Would it be the end of the world if you called in sick today?”

Louis looks up from his phone to see Harry propped up on his elbow, the sheet draped immodestly at his hips. His eyes travel from his still-swollen lips down his marked-up torso – an account of where Louis’ mouth had traveled last night – to the enticing trail of hair that starts below his belly button and disappears into the cotton. Louis could feel when he was still in bed that Harry had woken up hard, just as he had. Now, he can also see that that’s true. He must be crazy for what he’s about to say.

“Ugh, I really, really can’t. Last week of school. The subs are probably halfway to Cancun by now.”

Harry pouts and Louis dies a little inside.

“Final monologues are tomorrow,” he quickly adds, convincing himself mostly. “I think they’re more than ready, but some of the kids are nervous. I just want to be there for them.”

“‘Course.” Harry stretches long, like a cat, the sheet dipping tantalizingly further down his body. “I understand.”

He pushes himself up further, sitting back against the headboard.

“Harry, it’s early. You don’t have to get up. Stay here and sleep in.”

Strangely, he guessed that the thought of a naked Harry between his sheets would actually make going to work a little easier. Not only that, Louis wanted Harry to feel at home in his home – using his coffee maker and his body wash and his toothpaste. Making a mark on his house like he had on his life.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, his feet meeting the floor. “I have some errands to run.”

“At 5:30 in the morning?”

“Oh, I think that’s a perfect time for what I need to do,” Harry says deviously, padding over to Louis in the orange-yellow glow slashing through the blinds.

“And you’re not going to tell me what that is, I assume.” Louis tries to sound scolding, but he can’t manage it.

“No, not yet. But when it’s done, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“So mysterious, superstar,” Louis breathes when Harry comes to a stop right in front of him. He should be in the shower already if he wants to stop at Dunkin on the way, but he’s frozen in place, waiting for Harry’s next move. Always waiting for Harry’s next move.

“Trust me, Lou. You know you can, right?”

Louis is barely awake. His muscles are shaking, his brain still foggy. Harry’s words cut through all of that, and Louis doesn’t even have to ponder his answer.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes locked onto Harry’s. “I do.”

“There’s just one little problem we have to deal with right now,” Harry says, the serious crinkle between his brows returning. “Well. Not little.”

Louis tilts his head, questioning. 

Harry reaches down, covers Louis’ erection with his palm, and gently squeezes, gaze steady and determined.

“You can’t go to school like this.”

*****

Forty five minutes and one hurried, necessary orgasm apiece later, Harry’s climbing out of an Uber – possibly the only one operating in this neighborhood at this time of the morning – in the Holiday Inn parking lot.

It’s fairly desolate. Extended families won’t be in for graduation until the end of the week and Bedford doesn’t get a lot of business travelers. But there’s a rented silver-gray Lexus gleaming near the entrance, which means that the person he wants to see must be inside.

Getting Zayn’s room number is easy – Harry shamelessly flashes his work smile at the employee manning the check-in desk. He doesn’t like to use it when he’s off the clock, but this is almost an emergency.

The rest of his life is about to start.

Harry hasn’t encountered another guest yet, so he’s surprised when the elevator doors open to the third floor and he almost slams into a man who’s trying to get on.

“Sorry,” Harry says, trying to duck out of the way. “Excuse m–”

The man coughs, and Harry raises his eyes to his face. 

“Liam.” Oh, this is too good. “Excuse me,  _ Liam _ .”

“Don’t,” Liam cautions, his cheeks pink.

“Don’t what?” Harry apes innocence, but he also can’t stop smiling. Good for Zayn. Good for both of them.

The doors try to close around him, so he slams on the button.

“It wasn’t like I was planning on it,” Liam protests needlessly. “It just happened.”

“Oh,  _ I know _ . It was happening back at your office. I was there.”

Liam squawks hilariously but has nothing to say in his defense.

Harry exits the elevator, holding the door open for him with one arm. Liam switches him places, his expression still resembling that of a deer in headlights.

“Li, it’s  _ fine,”  _ Harry insists. _ “ _ I’m not mad. Zayn’s cool, you’re one of my oldest friends. It’s all good. I’m glad you had fun.”

“Okay,” Liam says cautiously.

“Now go take a shower, you smell like the corpse of Tom Ford.”

Liam frowns as the elevator doors close, and Harry wonders if this day can get any better.

He’d been hoping to wake Zayn up as unceremoniously as he had him when he arrived. But his agent doesn’t look at all bothered when he answers Harry’s purposely obnoxious knock on the door. 

“Hi,” Zayn says smoothly, as though he’d been expecting Harry to arrive at his hotel room just after six in the morning. It’s certainly not a  _ normal  _ Zayn reaction, but Harry knows a well-dicked smile when he sees one.

“Hello to you too,” Harry says, moving past Zayn and entering what passed for a suite at a mid-range chain. “Saw your gentleman caller leaving just now.”

The room is a mess. Zayn’s outfit from the night before is scattered across the floor in pieces. Somehow, one of the lamps on the nightstand ended up knocked over. Glancing sideways at Harry, Zayn quickly rights it.

“Oh. How did he seem?”

“A little in shock, to be honest.” Harry stands with his hands on his hips, appraising the chaos. “What did you  _ do  _ to him?”

Zayn opens his mouth to answer, but Harry cuts him off with a raise of his hand.

“You know what? I don’t need to know.”

Zayn shrugs, then starts collecting items of clothing, stuffing them into a travel laundry bag as he goes. 

“Aren’t you the least bit curious why I’m here so early?” Harry finally asks.

Zayn shrugs again. A signature move. “Figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” 

“How are you even  _ worse  _ when you’ve gotten laid?”

Zayn just peers at him from where he’s tidying up, completely unbothered.

“Fine,” Harry sighs. “So. You know I’m not gonna agree to this franchise, right?”

“I can see that now, yes.”

“Good.” Harry had been confident that Zayn would come around on the idea eventually, but this saves him time he can use fighting his next battle. “At least that’s settled.”

“I’ll make the call,” Zayn promises, tugging on a fresh, white t-shirt he’s retrieved from his suitcase. (No, not a suitcase. A $1200 price tag makes it  _ luggage.)  _ “As soon as it’s a decent hour there. They had a Hemsworth waiting in the wings, I’m pretty sure.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, emphasizing the sentiment.

“And what about the other thing?” Zayn calls from the en suite, into which he’s disappeared.

“What other thing?”

His agent comes back into the bedroom, rubbing something into his skin. “The thing you really came here to tell me. Or ask me. I’m not sure.”

Harry hadn’t been subtle about where his mind was last night. He wasn’t overdoing it with Louis – didn’t ever want to be false or affected with him. But Zayn coming here meant that they could skip over the conversation that Harry had been gearing up to raise. In every aspect of their working relationship, it was always more efficient whenever Zayn could just see something for himself.

“Louis.” In Harry’s head, it sounds like a confession.

Zayn nods once, then sinks down onto the corner of the mattress.

“Is it what it looks like?” 

“I’m pretty sure,” Harry says. “Yeah.”

Zayn regards him for a moment, his serene expression finally making way for a slight smile. 

“Then we should probably start looking.”

*****

There’s a lot to unpack with Niall, so Louis doesn’t sweat it when Harry tells him the evening after the dodgeball game that he’s gotten into the groove of his work and doesn’t want to interrupt his flow.

Louis has one extra cheese and one sausage and peppers waiting when Niall arrives after his shift, along with a 12-pack of Sam Summer, even though they’ve both only just shaken their hangovers. Louis, at least, spent the workday in a sluggish fog, weighed down by both dehydration and muscle fatigue – though, not enough of either to regret a moment of the previous night.

Letting Harry go again would hurt like a motherfucker, but this time –  _ this time –  _ at least Louis had had the guts to love him.

Harry may be in a writing zone, but Louis can’t resist snapping an extreme close-up of the greasy lava spill of molten cheese that’s just arrived and texting it to him. 

The doorbell rings just as Harry answers Louis with two tongue-out emojis.

“It’s open!” Louis yells, biting down on a grin. Before he can even look up from his screen, he’s being bear-hugged from behind, Niall dropping a great smack of a kiss right at his temple.

“Alright,  _ alriiiight,”  _ Louis says in feigned annoyance. “It’s just pizza from the place. Get me back next time.”

“Mmm,” Niall hums in his ear, still holding him tight. “Smells good, but that’s not what this is for.”

“No?” Louis teases. “I can’t  _ possibly  _ think of anything el–”

Niall lets him go just as quickly, spinning on his heel and flopping onto his back on the couch in one graceless movement.

“I think I’m in love,” he sighs, staring at the ceiling. “Again.”

“Oh.” Louis smirks. “Well, I think – traditionally – that means you and Shawn owe me your firstborn.”

“If she has his eyes, you can pry her from my cold, dead hands,” Niall says, managing to sound both threatening and dreamy.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll settle for making a toast at your wedding.”

“Late September,” Niall muses into the air above him, as if Louis weren’t even there. “Somewhere in the Finger Lakes. Heard those are nice.”

“September, huh?” Louis laughs. “I’ll save the date. Quickly: is Shawn  _ aware _ that this event is taking place?”

Niall sits up, accepting the beer Louis his holding out to him.

“We have a connection,” he tosses off before taking a swig. “A sacred bond. We don’t need words.”

“Doesn’t seem like you did, no.” Louis folds up into the seat next to him, balancing a slice on a paper towel.

“ _ Exactly,”  _ Niall says around a mouthful of pizza. Swallowing it down, he turns serious. “Don’t get me wrong: what you did was really,  _ really  _ uncool…”

“Ni, I was a mess, and I–”

“But it was like, this moment of clarity,” Niall blows past Louis’ apology. “If you’d thrown that ball at someone else or Shawn had gone the other way, I don’t know how long I would’ve...It just stripped away all the bullshit, you know? The thought that he might be hurt.”

Louis can’t take his eyes off of him: a completely different Niall than the one who’d sat on this couch just days before, thrown by a revelation and only in the early stages of processing. Then he’d revealed his heart – in public, no less – even though the result was far from guaranteed.

“Did you know?” Louis asks. “That you were gonna do it?”

“No idea!” Niall declares, gleefully. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay, and then when he was…” He shakes his head at the memory. “...My brain was screaming, ‘Kiss him! Kiss him, you moron!’” A smile spreads slowly across his face, and tears prick at the outer corners of Louis’ eyes. “So I did.”

Louis sniffs, blinking rapidly, and clinks their beers together.

“So what did he  _ say?  _ I know you ‘don’t need words’ – literally the whole town knows. But you talked eventually…”

“He’d been waiting. He knew I’d just gotten out of a really long relationship – my  _ only  _ relationship. He said...he said he’d wanted to ask me out since he checked me for a concussion.”

“Harry immediately called it, by the way.”

“But he gave me time to catch up. I needed that, and Shawn just knew. Those times we hung out, he wasn’t trying to put me off. He was just giving me space to make my own decision.”

“That’s really decent of him.”

“It was. It is. This whole thing...Lou, it was the  _ last  _ thing I was expecting. And I think I was trying too hard to protect myself.” Niall re-settles himself on the couch, resting his half-finished slice on the inside of the pizza box. “Look, maybe I did something crazy last night. I’m not wild about our first kiss being all over Facebook. But it all made sense in the moment.  _ I  _ was the one who had to take that leap of faith. Shawn knew that, and I figured it out. Eventually.”

It’s something Louis has been thinking about a lot lately: who has to show courage and when. Shawn didn’t react the way he did just because he’d wanted Niall from the start. He also knows what it took for Niall to do what he did in front of his friends, his neighbors – the people he serves every day, whether he likes it or not. To be the person who inspires a rush of superhuman adrenaline like that would be nice. But from the way Niall’s beaming at him, Louis gets the sense that being on the other side of the gesture is just as satisfying.

“Were you scared?” Louis asks, picking at the label of his beer

“Shyeah! Felt like I jumped out of a plane without a parachute. But then he kissed me back, and it was like…”

“Shawn caught you,” Louis finishes for him.

Niall gives him a small smile. “Yeah.”

Louis toes off his shoes and crosses his feet on the coffee table, surrendering to their night in.

He turns his head to Niall, fixing him with a look that he hopes communicates that what he says next is free of any sarcasm.

“You amaze me sometimes, you know that?”

“Aw, Lewis, I’d venture to say that I amaze even myself,” Niall waves him off. “Anyway, what about you? I saw you and Harry sneak out, you little minx. I’m guessing the dry spell’s over.”

“You’d be correct.”

“And?” A one-word question with infinite possible answers, most too detailed for beer-and-pizza night with what amounts to a baby gay.

“It was good, yeah,” Louis hedges with an understatement of pure truth. “It was really nice.”

Niall raises his arms in triumph. “Ayyye, see? I told you: everything was gonna be fine.”

“You did.”

Would it be, though? Sure, Harry didn’t seem to be in a hurry to run back to LA with Zayn, but the expiration date on their time together still loomed. 

Two months. Two months left. Louis has no doubt that they’ll be beautiful – that every day he spends with Harry will only make him more sure that this is the person he wants to be with, for real and forever. 

Even if they decided to try, Louis wouldn’t be able to have what he always imagined. He wouldn’t be like his sisters, going home to the same person every day to eat dinner at the same kitchen table and then fall asleep under the same afghan while they tried to get through whatever series they were currently trying to binge. He wouldn’t have what Niall and Shawn hopefully would – occassinally crossing paths during their workday, sharing secret glances and anticipating their time alone.

But he would – or he  _ could –  _ still have Harry. And wouldn’t that be worth altering the plan?

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, concerned that Louis has seemed to go off somewhere. “Did something happen with Harry?”

God, he’s been so stupid. All this time wasted focusing on what couldn’t be instead of what could.

If Harry wanted to make it work, Louis would do anything. Fly back and forth on weekends, spend the summers on the West Coast. He’s always wanted to go to Griffith Observatory and see the sky. He could get used to the traffic, or at least tolerate it.

“No, no. Harry was...lovely,” Louis admits, and then he can’t stop. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt that safe with anyone before. I know he’s only been back in my life for a few months, Niall, but we still make sense to each other. He respects my career in a way that makes me feel even prouder of what I do. And you should see him with the kids. Fuck, he’s amazing. He could take over all my classes tomorrow, and I’d trust him to do it. He treats his family and everyone here the same way he always did. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forget who he is to the world, but he’s still so completely who he  _ was.  _ Who he always was. He teases me until I get out of my head and is patient with me when I think I’m in some unsolvable crisis. He could get by forever on what he has, but he wants to be a better artist and make things that matter. God knows he’s sexy. And him and that  _ dog,  _ Jesus Christ. It breaks my heart the way they look at each other. Like they were literally put on earth to be each other’s soulmates. Every single day he surprises me. And he looks at  _ me _ like...I don’t know what, I’ve honestly been too afraid to unpack it.”

For so long, he’d thought that Harry hadn’t mentioned the future because he didn’t see Louis in it. But to believe that, he’d have to discount everything Harry has done and said since they reconnected. Everything he’s  _ been  _ to Louis. 

The truth, he tells every one of his classes, is in the spaces in between.

“So what are you gonna do?”

If Harry is being cautious for Louis’ sake, then Louis’ silence could be what ends them.

He won’t let it happen again.

“Follow your lead, probably,” Louis says, hope surging through his chest. “I think I have to be the one to jump.”

*****

The bell rings, and Louis is so proud of his students that he could sing. 

He doesn’t need them to be great actors. That isn’t what any of this is about. All he can hope for is that they apply themselves and understand what they’re pursuing – even if it’s just for two periods a week. The monologue project is about understanding character. It’s a living autopsy. And this year, he can say without reservation that every one of his kids put in the work necessary to be able to articulate the texture and color of each line of their pieces, even if they can’t communicate all of it flawlessly through their performance.

On days like this, Louis reckons he’s a pretty good teacher.

Harry had sent a message of support that morning that he asked Louis to read to them. Selfishly, Louis would have wanted him to be here, but that wasn’t fair to his class. There was enough pressure without one of their idols sitting in.

Louis could feel his neck and cheeks warming as he delivered the note, too touched to be subtle about it. That Harry had even thought to wish them luck epitomizes everything Louis loves about him. He’s never lost interest in other people and he knows how far a few kind words can go.

Louis stuffs his laptop into his messenger bag, allowing himself to coast on the wave of sadness that hits him when he looks out on his seniors.

They’re all special. They always are. 

He’s well and truly biased, but theater kids are simply the best kind to teach. They’re there because they want to be, almost always. They have open hearts and big dreams. They’re  _ funny  _ and attentive and just the right amount of strange. The interesting kind of strange.

Louis has faced challenges in his work. Some kids come in with too much ego. Some have tough home lives, and Louis does the best he can in his limited power to help them through. But overall, it’s truly the joy of his life, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything...even Harry’s career.

Today isn’t the last time he’ll see them before graduation; they still have one more period together. Louis likes to spend the last class playing some of his favorite theater games – a couple handed down from Mr. Corden, who he still has lunch with a few times a year. Then they’ll be out of his hands – even the ones who keep in touch after moving on. Louis should really be used to change by now.

“Mr. Tomlinson, hey. Hey, class.”

Louis turns from the blackboard, where he’s writing “HOMEWORK: NONE,” to see Niall in uniform at his door. 

Niall must see the terror in his eyes – if not, he tracked that all conversation in the previously jovial room had stopped.

“Nothing’s wrong! Everything’s...in order.” Then, under his breath: “Jesus, why I’d pick a job where people look at me like that?”

He adopts his professional stance – legs wide, hands on hips – then winks at Louis, who’s still at a loss.

“I’m Sergeant Horan, and I’m here to invite you to a little pre-graduation event,” he explains. “Exclusive.”

“Ni.” Louis crosses the room to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just the messenger. And I can give a ride to anyone who needs one,” Niall announces to the classroom.

“Where are we going? What is this? The school didn’t tell me about any–”

“Not the school.” Niall’s eyes gleam mischievously. “This is a private party.” 

“But–”

“Alright young citizens,” Niall continues loudly. “We’re heading over to Barry’s Curb Service. If you don’t have a car, partner up with somebody who does. Let’s go, chop chop!”

Niall is back in his squad car as soon as he makes sure that all students are accounted for, so Louis can’t pepper him with any more questions. All he can do is follow the caravan out to the diner.

When they arrive, only a few spots are taken – unusual for such a sunny afternoon, weekday or not.

Louis parks close to the order window, hoping to quickly determine which overzealous parent set this whole thing up. When he exits his car, however, he’s greeted with a much more welcome sight. 

Harry is rolling towards him in a candy-apple red Barry’s bowling shirt and visor, smiling stupidly. His arms are spread wide to keep him steady on his hot pink skates, though his long legs still threaten to dart out in front of him, sending him flying backwards.

Louis has never been so attracted to a man who could easily be confused for Bambi on ice.

Harry is followed out by a small army of waitstaff, who descend on the students’ cars as they pull in.

“Harry, baby–” The endearment slips out as Louis’ brain catches up to his eyes. It’s not  _ totally  _ new for them, but he’s never used it in public. “–what did you do?”

Harry flails a bit when the tips of his roller skates tap the toes of Louis’ shoes, and Louis locks onto his wrists to steady him.

“You worked so hard this year,” Harry says, turning his palms upwards to properly hold Louis’ hands. “All of you. I just thought it’d be nice to celebrate that.”

“So you bought out Barry’s,” Louis supplies. “For my kids.”

They’re surrounded by students and their phones. Louis should really let go and put some distance between them. He caresses Harry’s healed calluses with his thumbs instead.

“And for you.”

Harry is looking at Louis like he’s figured something out, brow smooth and pale pink lips slightly parted. It fills Louis with an emotion he can’t name.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says truthfully.

“Less talking, more eating,” Niall says, approaching them with an extra-large basket of French fries. “It’s free. Well, not for Harry.”

“No, Harry,” Louis drops his hands and shakes his head. “Seriously. It’s too much.”

“Lou, what’s the point in having money if you can’t use it to make people happy every once in a while? It’s just burgers. C’mon.” He adjusts his visor, his dimple cratering into his cheek. “What can I get you?”

“Don’t tell me they’re letting you into the kitchen on those things.” Louis gestures to Harry’s still-unsteady feet. “Zayn’ll kill me if you end up with third-degree burns all over your face.”

“Like ‘em?” Harry beams. “Got them from Amazon today – one-day delivery.” 

“They’re cute, alright,” Louis says ruefully. “Until my day ends with me driving my boyfriend to the ER.”

It takes a few seconds for Louis to work out why Niall is smiling at him so strangely, with half a fry still hanging out of his mouth.

Oh.

“Okay,” Harry’s eyes are soft, and his lips struggle to suppress a grin. “I’ll take them off for a bit. As long as you–” He points at Louis as he swims over to a nearby bench. “–order something.”

Harry is safely back in regular shoes by the time the kids realize who’s sponsored the party. They descend on him (and by proximity, Louis and Niall) at the picnic table area, asking Harry all the burning questions they hadn’t had the chance to ask in class. Most of them have to do with Marvel Easter eggs and other celebrities, but Louis is pleased that at least a  _ few  _ of them are about process or the business side of acting. Harry gets deep into conversation with Jane, who thinks she may want to produce someday, but is just as willing to share stories of behind-the-scenes mishaps and pranks. Fortunately, no one seems to be interested in Louis and Harry’s shared past, though Louis did have some prepared remarks ready to go just in case.

They eat until their lips and fingers shine with grease. Harry insists on ordering the full menu of milkshakes so that Louis can make a fully-informed choice about his favorite. (Black and white has no peer, he determines.) There’s not much room, and no one wants to be far from Harry, so Louis’ thigh presses flush against his under the table, grounding him. He left the sciences behind as soon as he acquired his minimum quota of credits, but Louis still recalls the basics of the process of fusion: two entities coming together to form a new whole. If he’d kept going, maybe he could articulate it better – the reaction that they seem to be causing.

At twenty minutes to five, one of their waitresses from the previous Saturday night presents Harry with a receipt that’s at least a foot long, plus branded visors for each of the students. The timing had been perfect; Barry’s could treat the kids and still not give up the dinner rush. 

After signing the merchant copy and leaving a 50% tip, Harry makes the rounds one last time, taking selfie after selfie, recording Snapchats and puppy-filtered Instagram stories, and signing anything that’s put in front of him.

It wasn’t  _ just  _ burgers, and he knew it. 

That’s what Louis is still mulling over when the last students drive away, Niall’s heading back to the precinct just behind them. Harry’s success was the exception to most rules, but he hadn’t hit it big overnight. He knows, far better than Louis does, that the ones who do decide to pursue acting professionally are going to be kicked down more times than they’re helped up. They both know, that for some of them, Louis’ classroom had been the safest place for them in the entire school. So Harry had created a memory for them. Something to take with them towards the next step.

Standing in the almost empty parking lot, Louis snakes an arm around Harry’s waist and squeezes his side. 

“Thank you,” he says simply. “I don’t think they’re ever going to forget this.”

Harry’s shoulders rise and fall. “I feel lucky that I got to know them.”

“Coulda told me, you know.” Louis digs in his fingers again, a little higher. Harry squeals and tries to squirm out of his grasp. “I can keep a secret.”

“It was a surprise for you too, you big jerk,” Harry protests breathlessly as Louis continues his onslaught. “Un _ hand _ me!”

Louis presents his palms to agree to the truce and watches Harry catch his breath.

He’s so pretty like this, flushed and lightly heaving, his eyes glittering even in the shade of his visor. It’s not the two double cheeseburgers he just took down that makes Louis’ stomach flip.

“Is this what you were doing yesterday when you told me you were working?”

“Not  _ all  _ day. Just took a phone call, really.”

“So the script is–”

“Coming along,” Harry hurriedly interrupts. “Actually, Lou, if you’re not busy tonight, I have something I want to show you. Will you go somewhere with me? It’s not far.”

“‘Course, baby.” Louis has decided he quite likes the sound of it. “Anywhere you want.”

*****

As Louis follows the directions coming from the speaker of Harry’s phone, he begins to realize that they’re heading for one of the swankier developments in town. Harry won’t tell him outright where their destination is, insisting that Louis “will see” when they get there. (Which, of course he will.) Louis doesn’t have the heart to even be annoyed with his cryptic bullshit right now.

He remembers the promise he made to Niall yesterday – the promise he made to himself. Louis had worried that his resolve would weaken when he was physically back in Harry’s presence, but it hadn’t. Harry filled his car with both his too-long body and his enormous spirit, but Louis didn’t shrink from it. Instead, he felt himself rise to meet it. 

“In 200 feet, turn right on Crestview,” Google Maps commands. “Then, you’ve arrived at your destination on the right.”

The conversation was too big to raise at the curb service. If Harry hadn’t invited Louis on this field trip, Louis was going to suggest that they go back to his place, where he could tell Harry, in private, that he was all in.

“Should be…” Harry murmurs. “Ah, there. With the arch over the door.”

Louis rolls to a stop in front of a massive, gorgeous house. Colonial, like most of the homes in the neighborhood, but with some modern accents. He guesses it holds at least three bedrooms, maybe even four, and probably has a backyard as lush and well-manicured as the landscaping in the front. There’s a “For Sale” sign in the yard, featuring the aggressively cheerful headshot of its realtor.

A house for Harry’s mom, or his sister’s family, more likely. Anne  _ had  _ insisted over dinner a few weeks ago that she never wanted to move out of the home where she raised her children, even though Harry had offered many times to buy her a bigger place.

It was sweet that Harry wanted to show him, but Louis can feel his opportunity and his courage slipping away in the face of this new errand.

“Want to go in and take a look around?” Harry holds up a set of two keys on an unadorned keyring.

“Um. Sure.”

Harry waits for Louis to lock the car, then takes his hand to lead him down the winding walkway to the front door.

Picking out Rose and Jackson’s bedrooms wasn’t the romantic evening Louis was hoping for. Anyway, why wasn’t Gemma here? Surely she’d want to choose her own house, even if Harry were footing the bill.

Though, if she were moving back home, it might be tough to get back and forth to go to open houses. Maybe she did trust her brother with it.

They reach the stoop and Harry gazes up the full length of the curved wall of windows surrounding the front door with a wistful smile on his face.

Weird.

He turns the key in the deadbolt and then the doorknob, fumbling for the foyer light once they’re inside. 

“Shoes,” Harry whispers, even though they’re certainly the only people here. Louis follows his lead and leaves his on the welcome rug.

“I want to give you the tour. But maybe we can sit down and talk for a minute first?”

“Okay,” Louis frowns.

Harry’s smile falters a bit, but he recovers it quickly.

Flipping on lights as they go, he eventually leads them to a huge open kitchen with sage green carved cabinets, a marble-topped island right in the center, and spherical iron light fixtures dangling from the ceiling. The appliances looked as though they’ve never been touched, let alone used. Still, the room feels warm and inviting. The kitchen should be the heart of any house, and this one definitely is.

Harry pulls out a chair at the island-slash-breakfast-nook for Louis, then claims the other for himself.

“Lou, I know we haven’t talked about this much, or at all really,” he begins as soon as they’re settled. “It’s my fault. I’ve been so happy being back home, being with you. I thought if I didn’t talk about leaving then I wouldn’t have to think about it either. But that’s not fair to you, and we’re both in this, right?” He covers Louis’ hands with his own. “At the end of the summer, I’ll go back to work, and then–”

“I love you,” Louis blurts out.

Harry stares at him.

“What did you say?”

Louis takes a deep, centering breath.

“The thing is, I love you. I’m  _ in  _ love with you. I think I was when we were kids too, but now I  _ definitely  _ am. And I’m not ready to let go of you.” He laughs. “Won’t be in two months either.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to. Ever.” Harry leans in, threading their fingers together. “Why do you think I brought you here?”

A new understanding knocks at a corner of Louis’ brain.

“Harry,” he says slowly, “whose house is this?” 

Harry laughs nervously, resting his head on their joined hands.

“Hopefully mine. Zayn says the realtor says the owners will probably accept the offer. It’s 10% over asking, so they don’t have anything to complain about. They were happy enough to lend me a set of keys, so.”

“But you live in LA.”

“I did,” Harry states. “I don’t have to.”

“Harry this is…” He delicately runs his fingertips along Louis’ forehead, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. It doesn’t help Louis make any more sense of what’s happening. “...But I still don’t understand.” 

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I usually have to travel for shooting anyway, and it’s not like I audition anymore. I can fly back and forth for press, and I’m just a few hours from New York here. Bedford is just as good of a home base as LA.”

“And Zayn’s okay with this?” 

“He helped me find a place. Anyway, I don’t think he’ll mind having an excuse to run into Liam.” 

Louis snaps his mouth shut. Maybe he’s misjudged the guy.

“Louis, my life still isn’t normal,” Harry continues, gently. “I’ll probably have to be gone a lot, sometimes for months. But if I could come home to you? LA doesn’t have anything that can compare.”

“I don’t care,” Louis says hurriedly. “I mean, I do, I’ll miss you, but I want to make it work, whatever it takes. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“Good,” Harry says, rising from his chair. “Because I obviously love you too. And I want to wake up with you every morning I can.”

He pulls Louis to his feet then bends down to connect their lips, sweet and sure and  _ permanent _ . It’s the first kiss where Louis isn’t secretly counting down to their last.

“Where are you off to in August?” Louis asks when they break apart, winding his arms around Harry’s neck. “I never even asked.” Suddenly, discussing Harry’s next shoot doesn’t fill him with dread.

“Uh,” Harry’s eyes flit away from Louis’ for a moment. “The cape.” 

Louis drops his hands and steps backwards, out of Harry’s arms.

“ _ This  _ cape?”

Harry nods, looking slightly fearful.

Louis whacks him lightly on the chest. Harry doesn’t even flinch, but Louis’ fingers come away stinging. Stupid superhero body. Louis reminds himself that, even so, Harry is not impenetrable.

“Why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?”

“Lou, babe, I thought I was already putting you on the spot by coming here to stay. I didn’t want to put any more pressure on you. And then you never asked about my work or what I had coming up, and I just thought, I don’t know, I thought that you didn’t want to know.”

“I did, it just...it freaked me out that I was falling for you so quickly. And it freaks me out still that I almost fucked it up again.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Harry says, stepping back into his space and smoothing his palms over Louis’ hair. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I was scared too, that it would be too much.”

“You’re gonna be here,” Louis murmurs, sliding a hand up Harry’s forearm.

“I’ll have to stay up there during the week, but on the weekends…”

“How’s the lighting in the master bedroom?” Louis asks, bouncing his eyebrows up and down lasciviously.

At the start of the tour, Harry tells Louis that – as soon as they close – the house is also his, in whatever way he wants it to be. He’s welcome whenever Harry is there and whenever he’s not. And Harry isn’t expecting Louis to uproot his life too – at least not right away – but there  _ is  _ plenty of space.

Louis kisses Harry in every single room, just to let him know that he’s thinking about it.


	10. Epilogue

“Is he on yet?” Niall shouts from the kitchen. 

“You’re good, babe,” Shawn responds from his spot on the sectional. “Still the sketch, then another commercial.”

Seconds later, Louis can hear Niall setting foot on the first step down into the sunken TV room. “If you don’t have the sriracha in your hand, don’t bother coming back,” he says without turning around.

Popcorn without sriracha. It’s undignified.

Niall sighs, then stomps back towards the kitchen to get the bottle.

“Thank you!” Liam yells after him, powerless to resist making up for Louis’ lack of manners.

Initially, Louis had been reluctant to invite anyone over to the new house – except Anne, of course. They had the odd weekday dinner when Harry was away shooting that big ensemble whodunnit, sometimes with Louis’ mom as well. But Harry had insisted that it made him happy to picture his friends enjoying each other’s company there. And anyway, why should it remain empty when he was at work?

“Make yourself  _ at home,  _ Lou,” he said over FaceTime one night, his eyes drooping with fatigue. “It’s yours as much as mine.”

So, Louis hadn’t thought twice about putting together this watch party. He likes entertaining, now that he has access to a house that’s big enough to handle more than a couple of guests. Also, tonight, he requires a little moral support.

Louis had loaded up the couches with loose blankets before the guys came, and most of them are already draped across their laps. It’s only early November, but another New England winter is drawing in, bringing that first lingering chill with it. Just two more days, and Harry will be back to ward it off. In addition to a boyfriend, Louis had scored his own personal space heater. Harry runs so hot at all times that it’s no wonder he doesn’t miss the West Coast.

Adapting to Harry’s unusual schedule wasn’t as difficult as Louis anticipated. Sure, he still counts the hours until Harry drops his suitcase in the hallway or hustles into Louis’ car outside arrivals, his cheeks and eyelashes cold from the wind. But they never run out of things to say to each other when they’re apart, and they always make up for lost time when they’re back together.

Anyway, Harry had gotten the chance to see Louis in action and learn why he loves his job so much. Now, Louis gets to return the favor. He could listen to Harry gush about set decorators and script supervisors for hours. His love of the movies – of people who  _ make  _ them, in every corner of the process – is contagious. Louis knew most of the department head names by the second week of production.

And then there was the part. Harry relished the opportunity to play against type and loved that the director wanted to use the audience’s boy scout image of him against them. Playing a despicable trust fund prick may have agreed with him  _ too  _ much, but Louis stopped being concerned when he saw the wardrobe. The first photo Harry had sent him of himself in a cream cable knit sweater that skimmed his body lovingly and brought out the flecks of pure gold in his eyes had led to a phone sex session that was so filthy, Louis hasn’t been able to bring himself to talk about it since.

His shameless attraction to Harry’s vile character aside, the whole thing was also much less complicated than Louis expected.

Anxious about his role in Harry’s public face going forward, Louis had confronted him with the question a few days before he left.

“You’re not a secret, Louis,” Harry said, punctuating the declaration with a kiss to the top of his head. “Unless you wanna be.”

A week later, Harry instructed a full makeup trailer to “say hi” to his “boyfriend” before putting Louis on speaker, and that was that.

Louis even came up to visit for a day. Daniel Craig told him he liked his shoes, and Louis reminded Harry about a dozen times before dinner that he was now “friends with James Bond.”

This trip, meanwhile, would fortunately be a short one. Harry and Zayn, who was on as an executive producer, were doing some in-person casting for the movie Harry wrote, which he’d opted to direct instead of starring in. While he was in LA, Harry agreed to do some quick press for an all-star Netflix charity special he was involved in. So tonight, he was on Kimmel, and – he, Louis, and his team had agreed – this was the perfect opportunity.

Of course, the spot had already filmed that afternoon. Louis had talked to him right before and right after – the second conversation rushed and euphoric as Harry was spirited away to his next event, Louis repeating delirious “I love yous” until the line went dead. But he still hadn’t seen it, and Harry swore that he was so high on the experience that he couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d said.

The noise blaring from the TV transitions from the soothing strings of an ad for a cholesterol lowering drug to the brassy horns of Jimmy’s house band.

“Shh shh shh shh, it’s on!” Louis hisses, fumbling for the remote. Finding it, he sets the volume even higher, while Niall steps over his legs with a bowl of microwave popcorn and, fucking finally, the sriracha. Scout is hot on his heels, having followed Niall to the kitchen in hopes that he’d drop something, which he probably had.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy wraps up his intro, “Mr. Harry. Styles!”

“Dude, he looks  _ so  _ good,” Shawn says as Harry makes his entrance, clad in a pair of muted, plaid trousers and a cashmere henley that hugs every curve.

“My boyfriend has a crush on your boyfriend,” Niall says to Louis, patting Shawn’s knee. “Can’t blame him.”

“D’you think they’ll show Zayn?” Liam frowns at the TV.

“Yeah, Payno, remember that part in every late-night chat show where they pan to the agents’ box?” Niall rolls his eyes.

“Will you all shut up, please?” Louis snaps. 

He pats the cushion next to him, and Scout rears back and leaps up, turning around once and then getting settled against Louis’ thigh. When Harry greets Jimmy and the audience, however, Scout raises his head hopefully, his ears telescoping towards the TV.

“Soon, buddy,” Louis whispers, scratching the back of his neck.

The conversation unfolds as it was planned. First, some chatter about his Avengers ending, since the statute of spoilers is up, then some vague talk of the next film, which hasn’t even premiered a trailer yet. From there, Jimmy expertly segues into the charity special and Harry’s work with this children’s cancer organization. The TV room breaks its enforced silence to “aw” at photos of Harry visiting kids in the hospital in full costume.

“Just a day in the life of Captain America?” Jimmy says.

“A  _ great  _ day,” Harry corrects. “Those kids wore me out though.”

“Could be good practice.”

“Jimmy, do you know something I don’t?” Harry leans forward in mock shock, which splits into a grin.

“I don’t know about that part, but, uh, I hear Captain America is taken.”

Jimmy looks out into the studio audience for effect. There are a few gasps and some good natured boos from people who’d much prefer Harry be a free agent.

“Could be,” Harry says coyly.

Louis leans forward, planting his elbows into his knees, his heart beating between his ears.

“Well this is huge, tell us about it.”

“I dunno, Jimmy, it’s private and–”

The audience jeers harder at Harry’s teasing. Louis can tell he’s eating it up.

“Okay, I get it. It’s a personal subject. If it helps jog your memory, we’ve got a picture.”

Jimmy bends down and picks up something from underneath his desk. He pretends to examine the photo pasted onto the card stock before turning it around to face the audience.

“Harry, I’m telling you. And I’m an expert...This looks like love.”

Then Jimmy flips it, presenting a selfie Harry had taken of the two of them the day they finished moving him into the Bedford house. Louis has his hair pushed back in a headband and Harry’s is up in a bun. They’re both sweaty and clearly exhausted, but happy. So happy. It’s Louis’ favorite photo, even though he urgently needs to shower in it.

The audience explodes into cheers and catcalls. Harry had insisted that this wouldn’t be a surprise to his more passionate fans; still, Louis’ heart expands to hear such a show of support.

“I’ve seen photos of you and this guy before, right?” Jimmy asks.

“Yeah, people have snuck pictures of us when we were out. But then tabloids would be like, ‘Harry Styles and roommate,’” Harry deadpans. The studio audience laughs.

“Mystery brunette,” Jimmy adds.

“That’s him, alright.”

“Amazing. So what’s the deal, come on. What’s his name, how’d you meet?”

“This is Louis,” Harry says, voice softening. “He’s an incredible, incredible drama teacher. And we’re from the same hometown, actually.”

“In Massachusetts. Which you left us for, am I right?”

“What can I say, Jimmy? Sub-zero winters, I missed them.”

“Fine, fine. Who needs ya? So, Louis – I love that name, by the way – was he your high school sweetheart? Because we love those stories.”

Louis’ phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of him. He instinctively glances down at it, even as he hangs on for the answer. 

_ You were worth the wait,  _ Harry has written.

“He didn’t know it at the time,” the Harry on the TV screen says with a shy smile, “but yeah.”

The crowd goes wild.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to the end! Thank you for getting this far. (And for your kudos and comments, pretty please??) Also, consider reblogging the [Tumblr post](https://a-brighter-yellow.tumblr.com/post/189529588683/not-that-gone-by-abrighteryellow-62kexplicit) and sharing the love if you enjoyed!


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